


More Than Words

by lucdarling



Category: Stranger Things (TV 2016)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Billy Hargrove & Maxine "Max" Mayfield Have a Good Relationship, Ficlet Collection, Friendship, Multiple Pairings, Originally Posted on Tumblr, Other, Post-Canon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-31
Updated: 2020-12-31
Packaged: 2021-03-10 16:33:27
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 25
Words: 22,845
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28440198
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lucdarling/pseuds/lucdarling
Summary: A collection of fic(lets) that were originally posted to tumblr in 2020. Featuring Billy Hargrove having friends, modern AUs and Billy & Max having a good relationship.
Relationships: Billy Hargrove & Maxine "Max" Mayfield, Billy Hargrove/Steve Harrington, Jonathan Byers & Billy Hargrove, Maxine "Max" Mayfield & The Party, Robin Buckley/Heather Holloway, Steve Harrington & Maxine "Max" Mayfield
Comments: 12
Kudos: 30





	1. painter!Billy

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Painter!Billy, the first piece of Stranger Things fic I wrote.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A reverse POV of my work [Starry Night, Portrait Hung](https://archiveofourown.org/works/22642186), inspired by these words by @thursdayknight: _He paints these beautiful abstract landscapes sometimes full of reds and blacks and deep, dark grays and other times filled with thick ropes of gold and azure, with fat stripes of brown in too many shades to count and Steve’s not smart enough to understand what any of it means but he knows how it makes him feel, knows how it makes Billy feel when he’s painting it._

Steve will be the first to say he doesn’t get art, even though he scraped by with C+ in the Art History course Nancy signed him up for, thanks to a lot of coffee and a truly enormous amount of flashcards. That doesn’t explain why he’s here, walking around a whitewashed gallery and staring with wide eyes at the painting across from the entry way.

He didn’t know paint on canvas could look like this. He wonders why they always had to discuss the work based on religion, those Greek muses, and more religion when he could have been looking at a picture of a beach. A picture of a beach that looked so real, like if Steve only stepped the right way or clicked his heels three times he would be instantly transported to the surf.

The answer to why Steve is standing here, having a crisis over art is, of course, Dustin. Or rather, Dustin’s friend Will. Will Byers had graduated and decided to move to Chicago and intern at an art gallery. Dustin had been invited to this event, a showing, ostensibly to support Will the Intern. Somehow, Steve had been dragged along and lost Dustin to the crowd of people and the buffet table three steps in.

So now he’s on his own, wandering from painting to painting slowly like he’s moving in the sticky heat of summer despite the building’s a/c unit being almost loud enough to drown out the chatter of everyone around him. Steve gets up too close to one that should ostensibly be an abandoned building, but there’s something twisted about it. The dark is too dark, if that’s even a real thing. Steve never claimed to be good at words. It makes his stomach turn but yet, he can’t look away. It’s a black hole of despair and yawning hunger.

“You like it?” Someone asks him, the first person to talk to Steve all evening. Steve spins around, startled.

The man is a little shorter than Steve, blond curls pushed back and muscles barely constrained by his dress shirt. 

“I think so?” Steve says, squinting at the painting. _Brimborn_ , the little placard says next to it. “It’s unsettling, and I don’t know why.”

“Yeah, it was a hell of a nightmare.” The man says and shrugs. “The nicer pictures are set up near the front, gotta draw people in.”

“Oh, I think Will said something about that. An experience, light to dark and back again.” Steve vaguely remembers hearing Dustin chatter about it and how it meant Will had to organize and get the painting hung in some different order than had originally been planned.

“Little Byers sometimes has a good idea. I’m Billy,” the man introduces himself. “If you’re interested, we could do a full tour? I think I want to hear the rest of your thoughts.”

Steve stammers. “Uh, I can try? Words can be difficult.”

Billy laughs at that. “Yeah, I know pretty boy.” The name sears itself into Steve’s mind and lights something warm in him, chasing away the cold that had fallen when he looked at the painting of the abandoned building. “That’s why I picked up a paintbrush and not a pen.”


	2. Class Rank (Nancy)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Nancy learns who valedictorian is for the graduating class of 1985 (Nancy & Billy friendship, Harringrove)

“What do you mean, she’s not valedictorian?” Nancy can hear the shout from the other side of the door, where she’s waiting to discuss her latest newspaper article with the principal. It’s not the first time she’s been called in, but it will probably be the last since it’s the last issue and graduation is in a month’s time.

The principal soothes the woman, clearly someone’s distraught mother. Nancy stifles her laughter. She studies hard and gets good grades, because education is her ticket out of Hawkins but it feels less important after Christmas lights and Russians and actual monsters from Mike’s game come to life.

Nancy waits for the inevitable question, and isn’t disappointed. “Who is then?” She can picture the floundering expression on the principal’s face, and mouths the words along with him about not invading student privacy and calculations.

It’s the same speech he gave Nancy when she wanted to know about the student drop out rate for a study on how Hawkins High graduation rate compares to the surrounding counties.

There’s a beat of silence from the office and Nancy holds her breath. 

“He transferred in, and now that delinquent is doing correspondence courses, I heard? That cannot be enough to keep the valedictorian title, you have to redo the calculations with the senior year’s GPA.” the mother demands and sweeps out. Her perfume, something expensive that tickles Nancy’s nose, lingers in the air. 

Nancy sighs and goes over her talking points in her head until the principal calls her in. She knows exactly what delinquent the mother is worried about, though it’s amusingly for a different reason than when he first arrived in Hawkins.

Nancy heads over to Steve’s apartment afterward, a two bedroom third floor walk up with no pool in sight. She lets herself in, since neither he or Billy lock the door when either of them are home in the daytime just in case one of the kids needs Steve. Billy doesn’t look up from his usual seat at the dining table, homework spread in front of him.

Nancy wonders how she didn’t notice before, how much time he spent on it even when she’s only at the apartment after school and sometimes on weekends. Maybe because he makes it look effortless, unlike her piles of flashcards that are stacked everywhere in her room and a bad habit of falling asleep on textbooks when the words start to blur together. Unlike her, Billy is exceedingly neat.

They’re something like friends now, after Billy had taken on the Mind Flayer with bare hands and moved in with her ex-boyfriend. They don’t have long talks into the night like she did with Barb but Nancy feels comfortable getting herself a glass of water and flopping onto the couch after she’s drunk half of it one go.

Billy grunts, a question in a single sound that Nancy marvels at. He doesn’t talk much, and he almost always has long sleeves on, pulled down to nearly cover his hands. She wonders what he’ll do when summer actually arrives.

“Guess what I heard today waiting for another reprimand about my article?”

That gets Billy’s attention, a lazy blink of bright blue eyes when they meet Nancy’s from over the couch.

“Someone’s mom was super upset about class rankings, and demanded they be redone based on senior year grades.” She grins at him and he lifts an eyebrow, unimpressed. She wonders if Billy even knows he has the title.

“You know it means you have to give a speech, right?” Nancy asks, worried. Billy hardly leaves the apartment, and never without Steve. Steve, who graduated a year ago and won’t be able to stand next to Billy like he does nowadays.

“Not if I don’t walk,” Billy answers and gives a small shrug. His voice is a low rasp, even though he hasn’t smoked since last summer.

“Billy!” Nancy is surprised for the second time that day, until she thinks about it. Graduation is going to be a special day, family and friends and a too large, itchy gown with a stupid hat. She remembers that the people Billy probably consider family only numbers two and that he’s never been one for the school spirit.

“Wheeler,” Billy says dryly, drawing Nancy from her thoughts. “It’s a title that only means something if you peak in high school or if you’re using it get into one of those pricey universities. Since I’m not doing either, it doesn’t matter.” He shrugs again and looks back down at his homework as he pulls his hair back with a scrunchie that Nancy thought she lost weeks ago. She might be over here too often but it’s easier than home, where her dad sleeps in his easy chair and her mother is more concerned with Holly and her romance novels than dealing with two teenagers who don’t sleep through the night.

“Okay so you’re not walking across the stage or giving a speech. But you aren’t going to college? Not even the community?” Nancy presses, because Billy is clearly smart - smarter than she even thought - and there are always scholarships and loans.

“You of all people should know why I want to stick around this place.” 

“The gate is closed,” Nancy whispers and the words threaten to stick in her throat. She finishes her glass of water and sets it down on the table too hard, making them both jump.

“There’s that, and the fact that Max has three years left in this hellhole.” Billy bites his lip, like admitting he’s trying to be a good big brother is something to be ashamed of.

“She’s got spunk,” Nancy says with a laugh. “I’m almost sorry I won’t be here to see her take the misogynistic health class that’s required in sophomore year.”

Billy chuckles. “I’m sure Steve will fill you in,” and there’s the blush that always appears when he mentions Steve. Nancy smiles to see the faint pink on his cheeks, and she must be too obvious because Billy crumples up a piece of paper to toss at her.

She throws it back just as quick and of course he catches it out of mid-air before it hits his face. Nancy hides her smile and pulls out her homework as he crows about being the best, a glimmer of his old self like sun shining through a cloud.

None of them are the same but Nancy thinks they’re doing okay if they can have days like today.


	3. Crush (Nancy & Billy)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Nancy and Billy scheming to get Barb to talk to Robin ‘cause they know Barb has a crush, College AU

“Is that her?” Nancy resolutely does not jump at the voice in her ear. She turns and slugs Billy’s shoulder, not pulling the punch like she would with someone else. Billy spends half his week in the weight rooms, he can take it.

“Ow,” he pouts, like the man child he actually is. Billy points again, gaudy ring catching the light. “But is that her? She looks kinda familiar.”

Nancy squints at the figure in the practice room, trying to see through the small window. “She’s the only one who signed up for this time slot, so it has to be her. I don’t know her, maybe someone signed up to use the practice rooms under a false name.” Nancy reasons.

Billy shakes his head in amusement. “Calm down there, Nancy Drew. So now we know where Robin is for the next hour. Barb is…” he trails off and looks at Nancy.

“You’re useless,” Nancy tells him fondly. “Barb is studying in the library until they kick her out at closing, she told me this morning.”

“At least I’m prettier than you,” Billy responds with a bright grin and Nancy sticks her tongue out. They’ve been friends ever since a freshman seminar icebreaker and Billy’s sly, judgmental commentary on the supposed mentor figures had made Nancy choke on her water. Three years later and here they were, playing matchmaker for Nancy’s childhood friend and current roommate, Barbara-please-call-me-Barb.

Nancy looks at her notes once they’ve snuck back out of the practice rooms and the music building entirely. “Okay,” she says, shuffling through her papers. She knows they don’t need them, but it feels right to be organized. Nancy likes organization and rules, up until the need to be ignored in order of getting shit done. “They’ve both got things going on until tonight.”

“So we sit Barb down, give her a-” Billy breaks off to unwrap a lollipop and stick it in his mouth. Nancy is glad she never seriously smoked cigarettes in high school, only the occasional one when she was too drunk. Watching Billy quit over the past few months has been difficult, mostly because there’s nothing she can do to ease his cravings. He continues, “give Barb a pep talk and then maneuver Robin to the same table. One of those high booths in the corner so no one has to see them if they crash and burn.” He backpedals at Nancy’s glare, eyes wide. “Which they won’t!”

“This isn’t a romantic comedy, Billy.” Nancy feels obligated to say. His cheeks hollow when he sucks on the sweet and she knows he does it on purpose just to see her flush. “Real life doesn’t work like that.”

“Says who?” Billy shrugs and breaks the staring contest. “You set up that blind date and it worked out just fine for me.” Nancy knows this is true because he and Steve are sickeningly cute. That might be why she agrees to go along with Billy’s plan. If it worked once, why should the second time be any different?

Nancy is also getting a little tired of Barb sighing over every morning about how pretty Robin’s voice is. If setting them up together gets Barb an actual date, Nancy will finally be able to have her coffee in peace.

________________

“So I hear you have a crush,” Billy Hargrove slides into the seat across from Barb, blond hair loose around his shoulders. Barb glares at his interruption.

“We are in a library,” she responds like Nancy knew she would, peeved tone and squinting eyes behind her glasses. Nancy is leaning against a bookshelf with a sightline to Barb’s face, listening to their conversation. Somehow Billy has convinced her he should be the one to give Barb this pep talk and she had agreed. “It is a place where people learn, not discuss their flavor of the week!”

“I’ve been in a relationship for almost two years now, Holland.” Billy says bitingly. “Stop perpetuating stereotypes.” Peeking over the books, Nancy can see Barb frown in a silent apology and Billy nods in acceptance. She’s still confused on the beginnings of their friendship, something about a LGBTQ meeting and only attending twice before they had been kicked out or done something Nancy’s still not clear on the details of. She’s not surprised in the least; Barb doesn’t stand for intolerance or anything less than an equal place at the table and Billy’s sharp tongue still gets him in trouble.

“But you, on the other hand,” Billy draws out the word. “I hear there’s someone you like.” Nancy drags a hand down her face. Teasing Barb is not the way to get anything out of her, Nancy knows this from personal experience.

“She’s cute,” Billy continues. “You got any classes with her? Maybe she needs some help studying or something. The classics are classics for a reason.”

Barb sets her book down on the table and stares. “She’s minoring in Russian, I know that much. We have history of the Americas together on Tuesday and Thursday.”

“Russian? That’s gonna get her far,” Billy mutters and Barb laughs quietly. “So a shared class and you haven’t even said hi yet? You can’t get a girl just by staring from the corner.”

“Fuck off,” Barb says without heat and Nancy muffles her laughter in her sleeve.

“You’re smart, you’re going places, you’re even pretty when you’re not glaring like I put gum in your hair,” Billy tells Barb and Nancy has to bite her own hand. This is so much better than if Nancy had sat Barb down for a chat. Nancy knows she’s too straightforward for this sort of conversation.

“Look,” Billy makes a gesture. “What’s the worst that could happen? She says no when you ask her out. It’ll hurt, you’ll go home to Nancy and cry into a pint of ice cream for the weekend.”

“That’s reassuring,” Barb sighs, propping her head on one hand.

“That’s life,” Billy corrects and mirrors her pose. “Or you could wait some more, and sigh some more, and let Nancy take things into her own hands with a blind date. It worked for me, but maybe this Robin chick won’t find it as funny.”

“Robin and Nancy don’t know each other,” Barb says and then the first part of what Billy said seems to hit her. “No, don’t you dare! I love Nancy like a sister but she’s so determined!”

Billy chuckles in agreement. “She means well, you know that. Come get a bite to eat and let me talk you up some more so you can go into that Tuesday history class and ask the girl out.”

Barb mutters something too quiet for Nancy to hear but begins gathering her books and papers. Nancy slips away down the other end of the aisle as Billy laughs again.

It’s not shoving the two of them in a closet, or even the same table, but Nancy thinks if Barbara comes back to their apartment on Tuesday night with a smile, she’ll know why.


	4. Pen Pals (Heather & trans!Billy)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The first meeting of Heather Holloway and her years-old pen pal, transgender Billy Hargrove

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was originally written for transbillyhargrove. It can be read as a modern day AU if you ignore the Reagan reference.

They’re assigned cross-country pen pals in middle school thanks to being sister schools, whatever that means. Heather is thrilled she lucked out with someone who actually writes back, and happily surprised that their letters continue even when the semester is over.

Billy pours his truth into the written word, to a girl he’s never going to meet. Heather keeps all of his letters safe, doesn’t tell anyone in Hawkins but begs her mother to drive her to Vincennes so she can learn about transitioning and the LGBTQ community because she might be young, but she wants to be supportive. Her mother agrees not to tell her father, who plans to vote for Reagan. They tell him these trips are girls’ bonding, and they are - Heather and her mom also see a film that won’t come to Hawkins for another few months, or go shopping in a proper mall.

Heather is the only one, outside the Hargrove-Mayfield family, to know why they packed up and moved away from the sun and surf to cows and flat fields. She doesn’t know what Billy looks like and the single picture he has of her is years out of date by now.

She waits in a corner of the parking lot, away from Tommy and his cronies, Carol and her bubblegum-popping pack because she can get along with them but it’s always short interactions. The Camaro pulls in, music blaring and engine rumbling. It can only be one person. Her heart beats faster.

Heather watches as a redhead gets out and skates away with a shout she’s too far away to make out. That must be Max, the bane of Billy’s existence because he doesn’t understand how she falls for Neil’s charm, seems ignorant that her actions have consequences, why he has to watch her all the damn time when she’s thirteen years old and Billy was making his own lunch and dinners at that age.

A boot stomps the ground when it swings out of the driver’s side and Heather hides a smile at the chorus of female voices that rise when Billy himself comes into their view. He leans against the side of his car, his pride and joy, taking in the one story high school as he exhales smoke and carefully watches out of the corner of his eye to make sure Max makes it safely across the parking lot.

Heather thinks about introducing herself for real, has daydreamed about running up to him and jumping in his arms but it doesn’t feel right. It doesn’t matter now, not when Carol and Tina are commenting loudly about his ass in what she knows are Billy’s second favorite pair of jeans and he’s already walking down the hill to the front office. She agrees he looks good from behind.

Heather floats through class, hearing his name on everyone’s lips. The new kid, the boy from California, Billy Hargrove, a junior making a move for the title of King that everyone know Steve Harrington already abandoned.

After school, Heather waits. There’s a gaggle of other girls leaning against someone else’s Honda Civic parked next to the Camaro. Heather is the only one waiting by herself, standing a few steps away.

Some of the girls peel off as the parking lot empties and Heather still waits patiently. Max appears, leaning against the trunk carefully like she’s been yelled at before for scratching the paint and digs a notebook out of the backpack at her feet. She flips through it for a cursory glance and stuffs it back in, pushing off on her skateboard to roll around the empty spaces. Heather watches her, red hair flying behind her like a banner. She wonders what it’s like to be so free.

The chorus line starts up again as Billy leaves the school and hikes up the small hill. Heather eyes his thighs with a small smile, the line of his denim jacket on his shoulders.

He’s surrounded almost immediately by the others and Billy drinks them in. His teeth are white and his grin seems genuine enough, Heather can’t tell from where she stands. None of the girls are leaving his side, not when he’s paying the slightest bit of attention as they all clamor for his.

Heather crosses the space between them, into Billy’s line of sight. Her sneakers are a muted thump on the asphalt and Max’s skateboard rolls on behind her.

Billy squints into the sun, looks directly at Heather as she walks up to him, channeling her mother’s pep talks on confidence and sauntering like you’re going to commit a murder. The other girls part before her, falling quiet as they realize something is happening in front of them.

“Heather?” Billy asks, uncertain. Heather imagines there’s hope at the end of her name.

“Hey Billy,” she replies and throws her arms around his neck, throws caution to the wind. She’s on her tiptoes and god, he had never said he was so tall. It makes her feel delicate. She feels like spun sugar as Billy’s arms wrap around her back and pull her closer.

“I looked for you,” he murmurs into her neck, just loud enough for the both of them. “Thought you went to this stupid school in this hick town.” Heather laughs against his chest, and laughs harder when the girls watching swear and walked off.

“You look good,” Heather said earnestly, finally letting her eyes take in her fill of Billy Hargrove for the first time that day. “Like you imagined?”

Billy’s grin is sharp, more a sneer like that’s all he knows how to do but his blue eyes hold something softer. “Better, so much better.” He flexes for her and darts forward to pick her up. She shrieks when he spins her around and only stops when Max skates over.

“Girlfriend already?” she says, bored expression plastered on.

Billy sets Heather down and his arm over her shoulders is a heavy, welcome weight. “Shitbird, this is Heather, my pen pal from middle school who attends the illustrious Hawkins High. Heather, my step-sister and gremlin on wheels.”

Heather holds out a hand, bites her tongue to stifle a giggle at the introduction. “Hi Max, I’m Heather. Do you like malts?”

“I don’t know what that is,” Max says as she bends down for her backpack, suspicion written in every line of her body.

Heather turns to Billy. “Do you guys have to be back by a certain time?” Billy shrugs and it’s not a no but it’s not an answer. “Billy.” She widens her eyes, almost a pout.

Billy turns away with a choked swear, digging for his pack of smokes. “Not the eyes, Heather. That’s cruel and unusual.”

She turns to Max with her best pleading face, and the younger girl laughs. “Okay, you have to teach me how to do that. Please!” Heather shakes her head and climbs into the backseat of the Camaro before Max can dart forward. Max sits gingerly in the passenger seat, clearly waiting for Billy to yell. He doesn’t, smoking furiously before crushing the butt under the heel of his boot and slamming the door as soon as his legs are inside.

“Take us to malts, Billy!” Heather orders loudly, imperious and joking over the sound of the engine.

“Sure thing, babe.” Billy winks at her in the rearview mirror and pulls out of the high school parking lot. “I’m never letting you go now.” Max gags beside him and the two teenagers laugh. They’ve both waited for this day, their first meeting, for years. It’s everything Heather wanted, it’s even better than she imagined.


	5. Ghosts of Us (Steve & Jess Mariano)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Wherein Jess Mariano leaves Stars Hollow for California and runs into Steve Harrington on the beach (ft. Harringrove)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Billy and Steve, canonically, would be 35 or thereabouts in 2002, when the _Gilmore Girls_ timeline says Jess left Stars Hollow. The idea of Billy running a book/surf shop was in a fic, or a Tumblr post; I’m sorry I can’t credit it since I don't remember.

Jess gets off the bus and shades his eyes. He’s got a book in his back pocket, a bag of clothes at his feet, and the salt air. What else does he need? He’s got time to find Jimmy’s place, the sun is still up. 

Steve looks over at the beach, because people watching is all he does when Billy is teaching lessons. He drops off the sandwich platters at table three and yells to his co-manager he’s taking a break. She waves him off and Steve heads across the street to the punk in a leather jacket, head down in a book. He had stood on the beach for a while, back straight and uncaring that some young child had just thrown sand on his black jeans.

It’s like looking in a funhouse mirror, the anger and confusion rolling off this kid in near palpable waves with a beat up duffle and backpack at his feet. Steve wonders if he and Billy looked this harried when they had arrived, and knew they probably looked worse. At least this kid doesn’t have any visible bruises, which is more than either of them had going for them when they drove across the country.

“You’re nearly at the end,” Steve comments as he takes a seat on the bench. He smiles when the kid jumps in surprise, tucking the map under a thigh. “Need another book?”

“You don’t look like a walking library.” The boy is suspicious, which Steve supposes is fair. His scowl looks comfortable and god, Steve is out of practice in dealing with hot headed teenagers. This kid can’t be more than 18, might even be younger than that with the James Dean swagger as a mask.

“No,” Steve denies with a laugh. “My husband runs a book and surf shop a few blocks away. I‘m pretty sure he’s read that one,” Steve motions to the book laying slack in the kid’s hands. “I can’t keep up with him, but I know he always wants someone to talk with about books.”

“I’m not into threesomes, or guys.” The kid spits back. Steve makes a face.

“We’re not into jailbait, but you got off the bus like a lost lamb and you’re obviously running from something, James Dean. So let me tell you that the homeless shelter is three miles that way, but you better have id on you. if you want something to eat, just cross the street. We close at six.” Steve counters, eyes narrowing when the kid scowls again.

“Everyone in California just wants to help each other out of the goodness of their hearts?” The kid raises a sardonic eyebrow.

“You remind me of someone,” Steve says. “ ‘m just paying it forward. Seriously, let me know if you want something to eat. I own the diner across the street.”

“Of course you do,” the kid scoffs and an emotion passes over his face like a storm cloud.

“Girl troubles?” Steve leans back on the bench seat, getting comfortable. His break can be as long as he needs it to be, perks of business ownership.

“Like you’d understand.” James Dean rolls his eyes.

“I don’t know,” Steve says, tapping his fingers on his knee. “The girl I thought I was gonna marry left me for someone else, after calling our relationship and me both bullshit. Granted, she was drunk but it’s not exactly what you want to hear when you’re about to buy tickets to the winter dance.”

“Harsh,” the kid comments and offers the first bit of real information to Steve, “Turns out they don’t let you buy prom tickets if you’re failing.”

Steve hums. “Let me guess, always got a book in hand but no time to do the work? Or you just don’t bother to turn it in.”

“Bit of column a, bit of column b,” the kid confesses. “I told L-the guy I was staying with that I wasn’t graduating and not interested in repeating at that crappy small town where everyone knows your business. He told me to get out.”

Steve has the feeling this is an oversimplification but it’s not the time to call him out. “So you’re gonna get a GED?”

The kid shrugs. “Probably, but I hopped a bus to find my dad first.”

“How long’s it been since you saw him?” Steve asks, and doesn’t need the kid to confirm it’s likely been years. He’s glad the kid has a place to sleep tonight, if only because Billy would refuse to let Steve drag this emotionally battered youth into their house.

They chat a while longer and Steve ends up writing the address of Billy’s shop on the title page of 100 Years of Solitude when the kid - Jess - pulls it from his backpack. He brings him two sandwiches, one to eat now and one wrapped for the road, before he heads home for the evening. He doesn’t watch as Jess heads up the street to catch his bus to the other side of Los Angeles.

Billy’s head picks up from the couch when Steve walks in and his smile is bright. It drops when Steve sighs and heads straight into his arms for a hug.

“Rough day?” Billy asks, smoothing his hair back with gentle hands that smell like surfboard wax.

“I think karma is a bitch,” Steve says quietly. Billy laughs against his throat and doesn’t press for more.


	6. Halloween (Robin & Max)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A Halloween drabble with Robin & Max at Family Video

Robin looks up from her music zine when a stack of films are set on the counter in front of her. Every single one is from the horror section. She can barely see Max’s red hair over the top. “Aren’t you a little young for these?”

“Do you really get paid enough to care?” Max shoots back, eyebrow raised.

“Fair point, padawan.” Robin cracks a smile and starts scanning the edges of the film cases. She inputs her own birthday, Keith never actually checks the log but Max clearly won’t be old enough to bypass the R-rating systems check.

“Any candy you wanna add on? Make it an even $20.”

Max shakes her head. “No, but keep the change.”

“Big spender,” Robin snarks. “Who’s the movie marathon with? Are you looking for an excuse to put your arm around them when they get scared?”

“Lame,” Max dismisses immediately. “If Lucas can’t deal with actors and fake blood…” she trails off, leaving the _after what we’ve seen in real life_ but Robin hears it loud and clear. Max continues after they exchange a look over the counter and Robin’s hand comes up to touch her neck of its own accord, just to feel the scar. “It’s the second of October, the entire month is for me.”

She swipes the stack of films off the counter into her backpack and saunters out. Robin heads over to the horror section to make sure Max didn’t leave behind a total mess on swift feet before Keith or a customer walks in to get upset about it.

The horror section is empty. Completely empty. There are no copies of Friday the Thirteenth, Halloween, or A Nightmare on Elm Street left.

Robin groans. She already knows she can't count on the two-week maximum check out time patrons are supposed to obey since Steve waives or pays the fines for everyone associated with The Party. 

It’s going to be a long few weeks at work until those tapes get returned.


	7. Just A Story (Jonathan & Billy)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jonathan Byers recognizing the anger in Billy Hargrove and sharing a little about his own past #teamshittydads

Jonathan wraps his arms around Billy tightly. He’s strong, Billy will think later, for such a weedy guy. Now, in this moment, Billy fights his hold. He’s seeing red, vision focused on the asshole on the ground in front of him.

Billy spits and Jonathan draws him back a few stumbling steps. “Cool it!” Jonathan nearly yells in his ear and Billy jerks his head. “You don’t want the cops.”

That gets Billy’s attention and all the fight drains out of him. If the cops are called, Neil will get wind of it and Billy would miss a few days of school. He can’t afford that, not when he’s gunning for scholarships.

“Good,” Jonathan murmurs, arms still like steel bands around him. It’s almost comforting and Billy can’t remember the last time he was held like this, held with little to no expectations of more or as a lesson. “I’m gonna let go and we’re gonna walk away. Okay?”

Billy shakes his head and Jonathan lets go. His face is red from exertion but he doesn’t look angry at jumping into a fight. He looks resigned, if Billy had to put a name to it. He wonders why.

“Want a smoke?” Billy offers instead of asking. It’s better than going home with bloody knuckles to another lecture, maybe more if Neil’s in the mood.

Jonathan looks surprised and then shrugs. “Sure.” Billy reaches into his car and finds his pack in the glove compartment. He lights his own before tossing his lighter over. It’s clear Jonathan doesn’t smoke much but he doesn’t cough so it’s not his first time.

“Why’d you step in?” Billy asks after they sit in silence leaning against the Camaro, cigarettes nearly down to the last drag.

Jonathan looks up at the sky, the stars just beginning to show themselves.

“I used to be like you,” Jonathan says and gives a rueful smile at Billy’s scoff. “Right, not all tanned California sunshine,” Jonathan waves a hand and Billy preens at the compliment even if it’s from the weird Byers kid. “But the anger that didn’t go anywhere, because I couldn’t fight against what I really wanted to.”

“You don’t know what you’re talking about, man.” Billy scoffs again and he feels cold inside. 

“My mom is the strongest person I know,” Jonathan says.

“From what I’ve heard, your mom is the town crazy,” Billy retorts. Jonathan glares at him from under his shaggy hair and Billy raises his hands in surrender. “Everyone thinks my dad is a stand up guy, shows what this town knows, huh?”

He doesn’t know why he says that, wishes he could take the words back as soon as they leave his mouth. Billy waits for the pitying look, scowl in place.

Jonathan pushes up his sleeve, not looking at Billy at all. There’s a round mark, a healed burn, on the inside of his wrist. “I was oh, seven? Maybe eight? Lonnie was a drinker, but my mom smoked. He hated it, thought he was gonna teach her a lesson.”

“On a kid?” Billy chokes out. He drops his cigarette and grinds it into the asphalt with hurried movements.

“We match,” Jonathan says simply. “Then he almost broke Will’s arm, my little brother Will, less than a year later. So Mom kicked Lonnie out, changed the locks and filed some papers that made us poor but happier.”

“That’s rough shit,” Billy says, heartfelt. He knows his own dad isn’t the nicest, but at least he doesn’t have to look at his own scars every day unless he turns his head in the mirror.

“This isn’t a competition of who has it worse,” Jonathan says, taking one last inhale and stomping on his own cigarette. “It’s just a story.”

“It’s a shit story,” Billy digs his fingers into his jeans, into the meat of his thigh. It’s grounding.

“Yeah,” Jonathan laughs and it sounds a little wet. Billy doesn’t draw attention to it, looking over the empty high school parking lot. Who would have thought the two of them would be here, bonding over shitty dads?

“So, if you need a place,” Jonathan offers and trails off. Billy shakes his head.

“I’m fine, amigo.” Billy grits out. There’s the pity, he knew it was coming.

Jonathan carries on like Billy didn’t speak. “We have dinner around seven except Tuesday and Saturday when Mom works late. You don’t even need to call ahead first. My mom loves kids.”

“I’m sure she’s begging for an asshole like me at her dinner table.” Billy smirks. His insides are writhing, buried daydreams of moms who care and real food in his belly waking to see the light again.

“Yeah,” Jonathan sends him a smirk of his own as he agrees, “You’d probably get along.” Billy shakes his head and pushes off the back bumper.

“Need a ride home? I don’t see your car anywhere.”

“I was gonna walk over to Melvald’s, mom’s working until eight tonight. She has the car.”

“C’mon,” Billy shoves him off the Camaro. “I’ll drive you home but I’m not staying for dinner.”

“Yeah man, okay.” Jonathan says and slides into the passenger seat. Billy turns up the music, smirk firmly in place when the volume makes Jonathan wince. 

He drops Jonathan off in front of a bungalow that’s seen better days. Billy also notices the locks look strong and doesn’t ask if this Lonnie has been back to bang on the doors. It’s not his place.

“Thanks for the ride,” Jonathan says and climbs out. He doesn’t look back at Billy when he heads into the house so he backs up his car and peels away.

He doesn’t think about what a family dinner would look like there, with warm laughter that wasn’t mocking, a mom and someone who understood the rage that consumes him, blurs his vision. Billy doesn’t let himself dream, dreams are only things to get crushed.

* * *

It’s another night like any other when his father’s shouts ring in the air. Max is frozen against the wall, shards of glass at her feet.

Billy stands from the dinner table, ignoring his father's threat. Susan is sitting straight, unbent in the face of his rage. Billy knows that will change, doesn’t need to be here to see it. He grabs Max’s hand and tugs her out of the house.

Billy looks at his watch as he drives down the quiet roads of Hawkins, then at Max in the passenger seat. She’s unharmed, just shaken up. It’s almost 7PM and he thinks about the invitation extended some weeks ago.

He drives over to the Byers house, pulling to a stop before he looks directly at Max.

“Get out of the car.”

“What? Why? Did you call ahead?” Max peppers him with questions. Billy sees the front door open and reaches across Max to open the passenger door.

“Go inside, Max. I’ll pick you up tomorrow morning for school.” Billy ignores her questions and glares at her. Max falls silent. She unclips the seat belt hurriedly.

Jonathan waits on the stoop, nods at Billy through the windshield and the bright headlights of the Camaro.

Billy peels out as soon as the front door is shut behind his step-sister, gravel flying. Max is somewhere warm with a mom who doesn’t cower or hide her bruises, and she’ll have dinner in her stomach when she falls asleep. Billy can sleep in his car up at the quarry, it won’t be the first time. His trunk has a first aid kit and a bottle of Jim, he’ll be fine. 

Billy’s had worse nights.


	8. Thursday Dinner (Joyce & Max)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Joyce Byers sets the family dinner table for one more - a companion to chapter 7 "Just A Story"

Joyce is plating dinner when they hear the car coming down the road. Jonathan frowns and she watches a look of dawning realization play over his features. He stands in a hurry, going to the front door.

“Jonathan? What’s going on?”

“Can you get another plate for dinner?” He turns his head to look at Joyce, something maybe like hope in his eyes. “I uh, told someone about our family dinners. If they needed them. Looks like they decided to take me up on the offer.”

Will looks suspicious but Joyce’s mind is whirling like a child’s top as she fetches another plate and piles the last of their spaghetti dinner onto it. She settles a smile on her face when Jonathan comes back inside, one hand hovering but not touching Max Mayfield.

“I’m sorry to intrude, Ms. Byers,” she says quietly, hand clutching her backpack. Joyce runs a careful eye over her body, thankful the little girl looks unharmed if a bit paler than usual. “Billy uh, he dropped me off.”

“That’s just fine, sweetheart.” Joyce tells her as Will greets her loudly. “You’re always welcome here, you know that. Hope you like spaghetti.” She doesn’t ask about Billy or why he isn’t inside.

“Oh no, I’ve already e-” Max starts to say and her stomach betrays her lie. Her face flushes bright red and Joyce wraps an arm around thin shoulders.

“Don’t worry about it. It can be second dinner, then.” Joyce turns to her youngest son. “That’s a thing in your book with the ring, right? Second dinner?”

Will brightens. “Yes! Lord of the Rings! Well, they call it dinner and then supper but we can say second dinner just like the hobbits have second breakfast. Have you read it, Max?”

She takes a seat slowly and gets drawn into Will’s excitement about small barefoot people and a wizard and trying to save the world. Joyce sits and looks at Jonathan across the table. They share a smile, both tinged with exhaustion of the day, of the week. It’s Thursday night, one more day left until the weekend.

It takes some more reassurance and soft words for Max to settle in Joyce’s own bed, clad in an oversized t-shirt from Jonathan to sleep in. Soon enough though, she’s got the two middle schoolers asleep and dreaming. Joyce goes back to the kitchen, thinking of the dishes piled in the sink and then how good a smoke is going to be in the cool night air.

“Billy, huh?” She teases Jonathan, who’s already in the kitchen and sleeves rolled up to his elbows. Joyce laughs at the look of horror on his face and winks at his stammering.

“So tell me how this happened, you inviting the town’s troublemaker to our little family dinners. No teasing, I promise.” Joyce holds up her hands, dish towel still held in one of them.

Jonathan shrugs. “After school one day, he was wailing on someone. I still don’t know why but he was gonna have the cops on him if it kept up. I pulled him off. We ended up talking.” 

Joyce frowns at the story. “I’m very happy to hear you stopped a fight rather than got in one again but I’m not sure-”

“He didn’t have a you,” Jonathan interrupts, looking past her shoulder. His hand reaches up to rub at the circular burn mark on his inner arm and Joyce suddenly understands with a sick feeling in her stomach. “All those stories about how Billy Hargrove gets into fights? When you look at his knuckles, they’re almost always clean.”

“I get it, baby,” Joyce says and pulls her boy into a tight hug. He has to bend down to put his head on her shoulder and his hands are soapy-wet when they wrap around her. Joyce doesn’t care. “You did a nice thing, I’m so proud of you.” Jonathan squeezes her tighter and then lets go, turning back to the dishes.

“I got this, you can go out. I can tell you’re itching for one.”

“Oh, you can tell?” Joyce makes a face, hitting him lightly with the dish towel before throwing it on the counter. “Fine then, I’ll go smoke and get out of your hair since you’ve got it all handled.” She beams at her son before she steps out of the front door and gets a smile in return.

Joyce’s fingers flick the lighter wheel with practiced motions and she inhales, thinking. Her heart is heavy with the knowledge that someone else’s Lonnie is still in their life, that there’s a kid currently asleep in her bed growing up scared. 

Cops, even Hopper, won’t do anything without proof. All Joyce can do is keep an eye out and keep her home open. She hopes it’s enough, knows it isn’t. She stubs the half-smoked cigarette out on the wall and goes back inside.

Jonathan’s already put his extra pillow and blanket on the couch. She hears the bathroom sink running so Joyce wraps herself up before her son can protest that she should take his bed.

Breakfast the next morning is hectic as it always is. Joyce hops to put her shoes on as Will darts back and forth between the table and his room and Jonathan stands at the stove. Max props up the wall until Joyce directs her to pour some juice. They’re almost finished with breakfast when they hear the loud car again.

Joyce watches as a sigh of relief lowers Max’s shoulders and she starts eating faster.

“I’ll put it in a Tupperware, honey. Don’t make yourself sick.” Joyce stands and pulls out two containers from the lower kitchen cabinet. She fills one with the remains of Max’s breakfast and scoops the few leftover eggs into the other. Joyce adds her own buttered toast and bacon to it, thinking about how much teenage boys can eat. She’ll be fine until her lunch break, maybe smoke another cigarette before she clocks in.

“Here you go. It was nice having you over, you come by anytime you want.” Joyce almost says _need_ and knows they’d never see her again. Max Mayfield isn’t a girl to tell someone what she needs, probably doesn’t recognize it living in a house like she is.

That’s okay. Joyce can look out for her.


	9. Marching Band AU (Robin/Heather, Harringrove)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Clarinet players Steve Harrington and Robin Buckley with respective crushes on drum captain Billy Hargrove and Heather Holloway in the color guard, Marching Band AU

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Based off this tumblr post: https://lucdarling.tumblr.com/post/614378446053834752

“You’re staring again,” Steve whispers in her ear, even though the trumpets are making an unholy racket a few yards away as they run through the next four measures in step.

“Can you blame me?” Robin’s eyes trail over Heather’s crop top and soffe shorts. She always looks good but now, with a little sweat on those toned thighs and watching her hands spin and catch the flag - Robin feels personally attacked. “You’re just mad because shirtless Billy took the ‘line off for a run.”

Robin does the awful snort-giggle that her father swears is genetic at the sad pout Steve gives her for calling her out on his gigantic crush on the drum captain. Steve bumps into her on purpose and looks appropriately contrite when Tina screeches they’re off their marks and have to start over from the top.

Robin tears her eyes away from Heather and doesn’t miss her cue, marching in line with the rest of the clarinets. Surprisingly, Steve doesn’t miss a step either even though Billy Hargrove is hanging out in the Pit, checking on his little sister. Stepsister. Whatever.

They’re going to win Regionals, if only they can stop staring at their crushes.

******

Billy saunters over to Heather as she bends over to fish her water bottle out of her bag. “That clarinet girl is making moon eyes at you, Holloway. Can you be less hot for once in your life?”

Heather sighs. “Her name is Robin, I’ve told you that.”

“Don’t get a name unless you pass my test.” Billy puffs up his chest, laughing and twisting away when Heather’s hand snaps out to pinch at his side. “Gotta make sure she’s good enough for you.”

“You’re not actually my brother, and I’m older than you, asshole.” Heather squirts water into her mouth and frowns when she sees there isn’t that must left. Billy takes the bottle from her and dumps the rest of it over his head.

Heather rolls her eyes when she can hear three different girls shriek in delight and Billy struts away, flipping wet curls off his face.

“Grow up!” she shouts after him. He gives her the finger and then the coach blows his whistle and it’s back to practicing. Her arms and shoulders ache as she picks up the flag. It’s only one more hour, she can make it through.

******

Billy swings by the pit on his way to his starting point, even though the line comes in on the 35 yard line at the to of the second movement.

“You good?” he checks in with Max, since it’s her first year in marching band and her first summer camp. “Did you have enough water on break? Or did you spend it all making out with that saxophone kid?” Billy knows his name, Lucas is the one who encouraged Max to join band n the first place even though her step-brother was already making name for himself as a freshman, gunning to be drum captain one day.

She rolls her eyes and shoves at him, ineffectual but Billy lets himself be moved a step back.

“I’m fine, get to your spot before the director has a shit fit.” Her best friend Jane giggles next to her when she drops her mallets. The two of them in the pit, giggling constantly, makes Billy very glad he’s not stuck with them.

“From the top in 3… 2…” Billy hears the drum major shout and salutes, jogging off to join Tommy, Carol and the others. He slings his harness on and hooks the snare on, tapping his sticks on the rim lightly to keep count before they enter.

“Remember your part?” Billy teases Tommy, who still hasn’t memorized the snare duet.

“I’m gonna get it,” Tommy grouses and Carol laughs from behind them. Her face is almost obscured by the first bass but she manages to swing out and hit Tommy’s shoulder with unerring accuracy. “Ow, woman!”

“Don’t lie, Hagan.” Carol says. “He spent all of last night trying to get in my pants rather than practice.”

“Fine,” Billy huffs and they step off in unison, marching. The sound of drums echoes in his ears, flows in his bloodstream louder than his heartbeat. “I’ll carry it but tomorrow, you’re pulling your weight.”

“Thanks, man.” Tommy says and steps forward with Billy for the solo even though Billy’s sticks are the only one moving, lightning speed and loud, loud, loud.

He knows Steve is staring and pushes himself, spins his sticks at the end and pops back up, letting the saxophones cut through the line as they’ve rehearsed thirty times today alone. He doesn’t glare at Lucas as he roll steps right by him, but Billy resolves to keep an eye on him anyhow.


	10. untitled angst (Harringrove)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompted to include the dialogues "Don't like to me" and "I've always been honest with you", set post-season 3 where Billy walked it off and lived.

“Don’t fucking lie to me, Bill.” Steve runs a hand through his hair, tugging through a tangle with harsh yanks. 

Billy watches the action, bites his lip because he remembers carding his own fingers through that soft hair so long ago. He doesn’t want to lie, not to Steve, but this is his dream, finally in reach.

“If you need money that badly-” Steve starts and Billy cuts him off.

“I don’t need pity, especially from you, King Steve.”

“Aren’t we past that? High school was nearly two years ago. I don’t pity you!” Steve shouts. “I can’t, because every time I look at you I feel awful. You were so alone and-” then he shuts his mouth with a click. It doesn’t matter, there’s no one else around them in the quarry clearing.

Billy rises from where he’s been leaning on the hood of his rebuilt Camaro, pride suffusing him still every time he’s strong enough to bear his own weight without aids or physical therapists.

“Let me make this clear, pretty boy.” Billy raises his index finger in the air. “None of you noticed I was possessed by the mind-fucking-flayer, okay, that’s mostly fair. I was an ass to all those kids Max hangs with, I beat you up in ‘84, so you should have had no reason to go looking except the fact that you and me were something. At least I thought we were.”

Steve tries to rebut, but Billy glares him into silence. He raises his pinky, and it’s a mockery of every concert where he had screamed for fun, sweated for the hell of it, none of it tinged by fear. “I’ve spent the last I don’t know how long in a government hospital. Most of this town thinks I’m dead. To my father, I might as well be. He probably wishes I was, then he could spend his time on the phone to get compensation. Instead, he gets a cripple who can’t even look at himself in the mirror.”

Billy raises his ring finger. “I’m technically just finished with high school. And using your nickname seems fine because I feel like I lost the right to use your name when you didn’t fucking visit me once.”

Billy knows he’s being unfair. It was a week and a half before Max could visit him and that was only because she raised holy hell at the guards each time she tried to visit or sneak past them. He guesses Steve didn’t take a page out of her book. Steve looks like he’s been punched in the gut. Billy hates that he put that look on his face but he’s got one more thing to say, a final bridge to burn before he can fly free.

“I’m not gonna lie and say I never loved you.” Billy’s voice turns quiet even as he raises his middle finger and lets the other fingers fold down in an unmistakable sign. “I did, I really did.” 

Steve’s eyes are shining. He takes a step toward Billy. The crunch of the gravel under his sneaker brings Billy back to his thoughts.

“I’ve always been honest with you. More than anyone else in this town, I think we can both agree.” Steve nods, chokes on a laugh and Billy continues, “That’s why I’m leaving. This was never my home. It’s been hell, literally hell on earth. I don’t want to live here and be reminded. I won’t.”

Steve breaks at those words and Billy forces himself to turn away. He climbs back into the driver’s seat, slowly and graceless, but he shuts the door once his legs are inside the car. Steve leans on the hood and Billy can see the tear tracks on his face.

“You’re an asshole, Hargrove,” Steve announces, loud enough Billy can hear him even though his windows are rolled up. 

Billy shakes his head and turns the key in the ignition. He doesn’t break eye contact with Steve in the rearview mirror until the car rounds a curve.

There’s a few things left to pack and then, finally, Billy can head home to California and the sun.


	11. Accident (Billy & Max)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Max falls off her skateboard and Billy patches her up

Max knows before she even hits the ground that it’s going to hurt. Thankfully, there’s no snap of bone when her arm hits the ground, which is what she expected. It doesn’t come and she sits on the ground an extra minute, relief coursing through her.

“Shit,” Max mutters as she jogs over to pick up her skateboard before it rolls down the road any further. She looks around at the empty road and then wipes the few tears from her eyes, telling herself it’s an automatic reaction of her body, not because she’s a girl.

Her wrist aches and throbs, already starting to swell in just the few minutes it takes Max to cross the driveway and enter the house. Billy’s music blares, taking full advantage of the lack of parents.

Max rolls her eyes and heads for the kitchen, awkwardly dumping ice into a plastic bag to rest on her wrist. She sits at the kitchen table, watching the little hand on her watch tick as the ice melts and her wrist grows numb.

“What happened to you?” Billy asks, making her jump. Max hates how he can walk almost silently, unlike her own stomping around. It’s unfair, she should be able to do the same.

“Fell off my board,” Max mutters. It’s been close enough to twenty minutes, surely twelve is enough? Her hand is getting cold and she wonders how soon frostbite will set in.

“Keep that on there, it’s like you’ve never gotten anything worse than a scrape.” Billy orders gruffly and leaves the kitchen.

“You’re not a doctor,” Max retorts to his back, but puts her numbing wrist on the ice again. She thinks about getting up for the first aid kit under the bathroom sink, at least she could disinfect the scrapes on the palm of her hands while she sits here and accomplish something. She hates sitting around doing nothing.

Max doesn’t move.

Billy stomps back into the room in the next minute, a box tucked under one arm. It’s a first aid kit, one Max doesn’t recognize. Larger than the one she uses from under the sink.

“Where’d you get that?” She’s curious. Billy gets bruises from his fights, but hardly any cuts or things that would need cleaning. Max doesn’t even know how you treat a bruise.

“It’s mine,” Billy says simply and takes her uninjured wrist in his hand. He’s gentle, and that is the second surprise of the day.

He cleans her scrapes and bandages them for both hands. Max watches him work, wary. Billy’s eyes are focused, dark in concentration. Secretly, Max is glad he’s helping. She’s wrapped her own wounds before but ends up looking like the Mummy more often than not.

Billy does something to her wrist and she cries out in betrayal.

“Good, not broken.”

“That hurt, you-” Max pauses infinitesimally before swearing at him. “You jackass!”

She holds her breath, waiting for the inevitable reaction.

Billy huffs a laugh, not letting go of her injured wrist. He doesn’t get mad at the name calling or squeeze her until she yells at him. His fingers are warm on her cold clammy skin. He pulls some fabric and velcro from his box that has too many holes for Max to figure out what it is or how to wear it.

“It might be a little big on you, you’re a skinny thing. Better than nothing and you’ll remember not to use it.” He carefully fits the brace on her wrist, wrapping it tightly. She vaguely remembers a classmate having to wear one once, back in California. It immobilizes her wrist and Max waves it in the air between them just to feel the slight weight and the way nothing moves. Freaky.

“You sprained your wrist, Max. That means no rough housing, no skateboarding, watch where you swing your arms as you talk so you don’t bang it into a doorway being a dumb shit.” Billy leans forward, meeting her eyes as he lists off the things she can no longer do according to him.

“Where’d you get your medical degree?”

“School of hard knocks,” Billy says dryly and shuts the lid to his first aid kit. “Ice it for another twenty minutes on the hour. Take some aspirin or something. You can take the brace off tomorrow.”

That means Max can take it off before their parents come home and her mom doesn’t ever have to know she hurt herself. Excellent.

“Thanks,” she mutters.

“Don’t mention it.” Billy waves a hand, standing up from the table and pushing the chair back in. “Literally, don’t.” He takes the box with him as he leaves.

Max sits in the kitchen with her melted ice and braced wrist, thoughts carefully skirting around the edges of something larger she doesn’t want to put a name to. Turns out having an older step-brother isn’t the worst thing in the world. His music taste still sucks though.


	12. Hospital (Robin & Steve, Harringrove)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompted with "Home after the hospital" + “Need some help?”, I wrote two different scenarios.  
> One with Robin & Steve friendship, the other Harringrove in an AU.

**Robin & Steve**

Robin watches him walk, or try to, and can’t find it in herself to laugh like she might on any other day. Steve’s balance is shot and since the drugs are no longer in either of their systems, it’s probably the concussion. She wonders if he’s been keeping track of them, if he has any brain cells left under all that hair.

She still runs forward and thrusts her arm under his, wrapping it around his shoulders to take some of his weight. They nearly tip over thanks to Steve’s surprised flail but they don’t fall so Robin counts it as a win.

“Where are you going, dingus?” Steve is, thankfully, no longer in the sailor uniform. Someone brought him clothes, light wash jeans and a polo whose wrinkles don’t hide the fact it was probably picked up off his bedroom floor. Robin is almost certain it was the curly-haired kid whose name she definitely knows but still pretends not to just for the face he’ll make.

She wonders, not for the first time, where Steve’s parents are.

“Uh,” Steve stammers and she steers both of them to a bench. “Home?”

“I thought you were on bed rest through the end of the week,” Robin huffs and finally moves her arm off his shoulders. The height difference is only two inches between them but it’s enough that her muscles are aching in protest. Or it’s the fact that she is a week out from discovering, then escaping the secret Russian base below her place of work aka the town mall.

Steve’s face has lightened to blues and greens, a vast improvement from the night it happened.

“I’m staging a jailbreak. Hospital break. I can have bed rest in my own bed, that’s the whole point.” Steve corrects himself before she can and Robin rolls her eyes as he keeps talking.

“Need some help?” Robin offers before the words register in her brain. “I’m pretty good at escaping from places, I’ve got practice now.”

* * *

**Harringrove**

Steve is walking back from a late night class, wondering if it’s too late to call Billy’s phone when he catches sight of someone who looks like his boyfriend. But it can’t be, because Billy should still be taking up space at the hospital through tomorrow, when he’s set for discharge.

“What are you doing?” Steve jogs up to the cab and grabs Billy’s small backpack from the cab’s trunk before he can. “I thought I was picking you up tomorrow, we agreed.”

Billy grimaces as he shrugs. “I missed you, Stevie. Didn’t you miss me too?” Steve catches sight of the bruising on his torso when his shirt lifts up and feels his heart catch in his throat, the same way it had dropped down when he’d gotten the phone call about the accident.

“Of course I did,” Steve says and links his hand with Billy’s as they enter the apartment building. “But the hospital, your discharge was tomorrow.”

“I don’t sleep well without you,” Billy mutters into his shoulder and they shuffle into the elevator.

Steve turns so Billy is fully leaning on him as the elevator ascends. He’s silently grateful it’s working again, so he doesn’t have to help his boyfriend up four flights of stairs. He shuffles them both down the short hallway and into their apartment.

Billy sinks down onto the couch, not even trying for the bedroom, as soon as they get through the door. He waves a hand at the bag over Steve’s shoulder when asked about his pain medication.

“You gonna nap there, Bill? Or do you need some help to get to bed?” Steve asks, keeping his voice soft. It’s almost dusk but the tight lines around his mouth haven’t eased even though Billy is laying back on the couch, a picture of relaxation to anyone who didn’t know him like Steve does.

“You can’t come over here?” Billy pats the back of the couch and Steve rolls his eyes.

“No, I am definitely not laying on you, you with the bruised ribs.”

Billy pouts and Steve drags a hand across his face, giving in because he’s weak and not immune to that look. “We’re gonna fuck our sleep schedule.” he warns, carefully draping himself over top of Billy.

“It’s the weekend, there is no such thing,” Billy retorts and presses a kiss to his cheekbone, the only part of Steve he can reach without lifting his head. “Shut up and nap with me.”


	13. All Your'n (Robin/Heather)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Initially prompted to include “Please don’t walk out of that door”, it's set vaguely between iv. and v. of [Made the Same (the look in your eyes)](https://archiveofourown.org/works/24310990) but you don't need to read that first. Just know that Billy & Robin have formed their own little secret lgbtq club in Hawkins and are friends.

“Please don’t walk out of that door,” Robin’s voice cracks and she hates it. She loathes the sting of tears in her eyes, blurring her favorite sight of dark curls and big eyes. This wasn’t the place for them to do this, to have this fight, even with Heather putting the ‘closed for cleaning’ sign in front of the locker room.

“Babe,” Heather’s voice is soft but firm. “We’re not doing anything, it’s for show. Better tips and all. I thought you two were sort of friends anyway?”

Robin stays silent at that, because it might possibly be true but neither are going to admit it in public thanks to social reputations. Mostly the fact that Robin’s is lower than dirt and not that of the cheer captain or basketball hotshot.

Heather continues, “I still like you a lot. But I gotta go do my job, shift change ends in three minutes.”

She takes a hesitant step towards her girlfriend and Robin holds out her arms. She’ll never deny a hug from a beautiful girl. Heather hugs her, smelling like tanning lotion and a slight hint of hairspray because god forbid the lifeguards have less than perfect hair. Robin chokes back the words she wants to say, her sharp tongue has already gotten her in this mess.

“Tell those snot nosed brats no running around the pool, you hear me?” Robin manages to order, even as her hands lift to run through Heather’s dark long hair and form it into the high ponytail that makes up part of her signature look. She pulls the scrunchie off Heather’s wrist and wraps it around twice to secure it.

“You’re not going to stick around? We could do something after my shift?” For the first time, Heather looks unsure.

Robin presses a light kiss to her mouth and takes a step back before she could grip Heather’s hips in that bright red bathing suit.

“I gotta go put applications in at the mall, but we could go out? The diner two towns over?” Robin offers, hands at her sides clenching into fists.

A whistle blows outside and they both jump at the shrill sound.

“I’ll meet you at eight,” Heather agrees and leaves a lip-gloss sticky kiss on Robin’s lips before she pushes the door open, back to her adoring fans. Robin stands in the shade of the pool house, watching Heather’s thighs flex as she climbs the lifeguard chair and settles in.

They’re not broken up, but Robin doesn’t know where they stand after her accusation and it leaves a sour feeling in her stomach.

“Buckley,” says a gruff voice and Robin turns. Of course it’s Billy Hargrove leaning against the wall, aviators on and cigarette held loosely in one hand.

“Not in the mood, California,” Robin snaps. They’ve shared a few smokes in the school year and know each other’s darkest secret. She still isn’t sure she’d call him a friend despite what Heather said earlier. “Aren’t the PTA moms looking for you?”

“Fuck ‘em. They’re all bitches who like looking at barely legal me because their men fall asleep in armchairs and only find romance in between the covers of a book.” Billy spits and Robin laughs despite herself, despite her earlier anger.

He pushes his aviators into blond curls and speaks before Robin can walk on to her car. “I was gonna say the vents carry sound,” he jerks his head and Robin realizes they’re on the other side of the girl’s locker room wall. “You know whatever I do here, it’s a show, right? So’s Heather. It gets all these po-dunk parents wet, makes the job a little easier to bear. It doesn’t mean anything and-” He breaks off but he looks so earnest.

Robin has the wildly funny thought that this is Billy Hargrove’s attempt at comfort and snorts in laughter before she can stop herself.

Billy’s face creases in what she knows is anger but she also knows he won’t take it out on her.

“Hey, sorry.” Robin snorts again. “You’re just really bad at the feelings stuff, dude.” She tries to get her reaction under control and Billy watches her in silence, smoking.

“Fuck you,” Billy finally says once Robin has calmed down.

“Definitely never!” Robin sing-songs quietly and twirls her keychain around a finger. She added a string of little red-orange-yellow beads last night, mixing with the green-blue-purple string and all red beads she already had hanging. Billy gives her a small smile, something real as he stubs out the cigarette on the brick wall.

“See you around, Buckley.” He calls out, sliding the sunglasses back on his face. Robin waves to his back, like the dork she is. She rolls her eyes at herself and walks through the shimmering June heat to her car. Time to go to the mall, hooray.

Thoughts of Heather in the bright lights of the diner, the idea that Robin might have a little pocket money to treat her girl right, gets her into the car and on the road. Love is a bitch.


	14. Drunk (Billy & Max)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> How Billy might react when he happens upon Max drunk at a party, a double drabble

Billy isn’t sure, at first, that it’s actually Max in the corner of the room. He’s made the rounds, local celebrity and hero. His cup of beer is only his second of the night, he had lost his taste for losing control when he had actually ceded control and become a puppet.

She’s giggly, tossing her head back and forth to the beat blaring from the speakers. Billy could hear her singing off-key as he winds his way through the crowd towards her.

“Having fun?” Billy says into her ear, taking delight in the way she spins around in shock.

“What are you doing here?” Max asks, and Billy is pleased she isn’t slurring. Must not have drunk too much then.

“Hanging out. Better question is, what are you doing here, Max?”

“Hanging out,” she parrots back with a smirk Billy itches to wipe off her face.

“You’re not even eighteen.”

“Neither were you when you started going to parties, let alone drinking!” Billy snatches the cup out of Max’s hand. It’s the punch, of course it’s the punch. He pours it into the potted plant to their left, not listening as Max shouts in indignation.

“C’mon, I’m taking you home.”


	15. First Meeting (Billy & Max)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> What could have been the first meeting between the Hargrove and Mayfield children

“We’re getting married,” Billy’s dad says and the world stops. “This is your new sister, Maxine.”

Billy can see the snarl forming on her face and sticks out a hand. He hopes she’ll take it, hopes this kid knows how to hide her emotions. She’ll have to learn real fast, otherwise. His dad doesn’t like crying snot-nosed brats as he’s yelled at Billy too many times to count before he toughened up.

“Nice to meet you,” Billy says with a grin that’s a few years away from totally charming. Maxine shakes his hand and drops it like a hot potato.

He’s too angry for his expression or greeting to be real, another woman brought into his life, another mother-figure who will abandon him without a second thought the first time his dad raises a hand or his voice or the bottle one too many times.

The adults drift off, assured the kids will stick together. Billy wants no such thing, didn’t even ask for a little sister. He knows what will happen if he doesn’t stick close though, so he takes her hand again.

“Let go!”

“No,” Billy chuckles. “You’re a pipsqueak, Maxine.” He drawls the name, delights in the embarrassed flush of her cheeks.

“It’s Max, William.” Oh, baby sister has bite. Billy laughs again, for real this time.

He bends down, meeting her eyes. “You call me Billy, I’ll call you Max. No full names, we can be who want to be around each other.”

His message is too subtle right now, the kid barely knows his dad. But she’ll learn soon enough. Billy will be there to catch her when she falls into the trap. That’s what a big brother does. 

“Deal?” he asks. 

Max spits in her palm and takes his hand, tries to crush his fingers. Billy smiles and ruffles her hair. They’re going to get along just fine. He knows it.


	16. modern AU (Billy & Max)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A modern AU for Billy & Max, camaraderie in the trenches under Neil

Billy’s phone rings, tinny and echoing through his brain. He stabs at the red button before he realizes whose picture popped up. 

He rolls his eyes and swipes away the call when it rings again. Max knows he’s out of the house tonight, she shouldn’t expect an answer at all. 

Then the text messages start showing up. 

_Your dad’s in a mood._

_I’m on my way to Jane’s house. Can you pick me up after school tmrw?_

_Don’t go home tonight._

Billy reads the last two messages and is calling her back before he even consciously thinks about doing so.

“The fuck do you mean don’t go home?” He tries to keep his voice down, aware there’s a party going on in the other room. He really doesn’t need any eavesdroppers. “How are you getting to Jane’s?” The thought hits Billy all of a sudden at the same time he realizes he shouldn’t be driving.

“On my board,” Max huffs. “It’s fine, I grabbed my coat before I ditched through the window." 

"Jesus,” Billy swears. He pulls at his hair. “You okay?”

“Yeah,” Max pauses. Billy hopes she isn’t stupid enough to try and lie to him. 

“It was just…” Her voice drops. “I was scared.”

Billy lets the pause hang between them. He doesn’t have any platitudes, can’t bring himself to lie to her. Not about this, not when she hears it through the walls or catches a glimpse with her own eyes. 

"I know, Max.“ The _me too_ is left unsaid. He turns eighteen in two weeks. Billy had always planned to leave as soon as the clock turned over, eighteen years and one minute older.

But now he’s got Max to think about, four years younger and only getting used to reading the room, understanding the tone of voice that his Dad uses. She’s still a kid, youthful innocence but already a little broken.

Some of that is Billy’s fault, he knows.

He shakes his head when Max speaks again, doesn’t let the maudlin thoughts cling. "What’d you say?”

“You’ll be okay tonight? I don’t even know where you are.”

“At some party,” Billy sighs. His buzz has worn off and left him slumped into the couch in this wood-paneled study. “I’ll crash here. You got an excuse for why you’re showing up so late at the Chief’s place?”

“He gave me a key, said no excuse necessary.” Max sounds shy over the phone, even as she pants for breath. Must be trying to ride her board uphill, the little idiot. 

Billy hums. “That’s good. You all set for class tomorrow?”

“Yeah, have my bag and a change of clothes.”

“Good. I’ll pick you up tomorrow, usual spot.”

“See ya,” Max agrees and hangs up. Billy throws his feet up on the couch and sighs, rubbing at his face. Two minutes to catch his breath and then he can go back out to the masses, be the keg king they all expect to see.


	17. Pour Some Sugar (Harringrove)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A complete AU with bakers Billy Hargrove & Eleven

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Inspired by [Sugar, Butter, Flour](https://archiveofourown.org/works/23125027) by @nagdabbit, featuring a Billy who kneads things

“It needs something,” Billy says, taking a step back from the scarred table and squinting at the cake stand. El lifts her head up, drops the piping bag and also squints at the cake. They almost definitely spend too much time together.

“It’s too blue,” she declares.

“They asked for an underwater theme. The fish come later.” Billy tells her as he rolls his eyes. Fulfilling orders like these is what pays the bills on the shop but sometimes, it’s a pain in the ass.

El gnashes her teeth at him twice, eyes wide and dark, before returning to her mound of pâte a choux.

“Jaws, good idea!” Billy shouts at her back over the bass line of Orion. They don’t speak again for the next hour, concentrating on sculpting fondant and filling baking trays. 

Billy saunters through to the main shop floor as soon as Philip Anselmo has finished counting down. El is already three steps ahead of him, jumping into the arms of Mike Wheeler when he steps through the door.

The face he makes when he realizes that yes, the same Pantera song is playing as his entrance music for the third time this week and eighth time this month alone, will never fail to make Billy laugh. He’s come a long way from smashing plates and speeding - okay, he still has a lead foot - but ever since Henderson hooked him up with security cameras and a sick sound system, Billy’s had his fun matching songs to select people.

“Are you ever going to change the song?” Steve says, curling a hand around Billy’s wrist. He’s a warm line, pressing against his back.

“Probably not, just because of that stupid scrunched up face.” Billy turns around to face Steve, smirk in place. “Want to come taste something in the back?”

Steve chokes on a laugh, cheeks flushing red as he stammers. It’s like Billy doesn’t proposition him nearly every time he comes in. Steve’s hand squeezes on his wrist and that’s not a no so Billy lets his boyfriend lead him back to the workroom.

“Health violation! Quick, someone call the inspector!” Billy flips off Henderson as he starts shouting and detours to the coat closet instead.

It’s occupied and Billy bangs on the door. “I pay you to deal with customers, not suck face!” He shouts and Steve doesn’t try to hide his laughter this time.

“Fuck off! We’re engaged!” Max’s return shout is no less quieter but she does open the door and thrust her hand with the ring in Billy’s face.

“Good for you,” Billy says in a deadpan. “Sinclair, I thought you had more class than proposing in a closet.”

Lucas shuffles his feet and Max scowls. “We were at the pier, asshole. Right now we’re celebrating.”

“Nope,” Steve cuts in before Billy’s temper can make a memorable appearance. “You’re going home to do that, none of us need to know anything about it, and we’ll see you both tomorrow. Congratulations.” He makes motions and the couple leaves the closet with matching smiles.

Billy pulls him into the closet and against his chest, shutting the door before sliding his hand to cup the back of Steve’s neck. They kiss, soft and slow and gentle, as the playlist shuffles over to Going to California.

“She’s getting married, huh?” Billy says with a laugh and drops his head on Steve’s shoulder.

“Seems like it,” Steve says, lips against Billy’s neck. “They’re happy, and it’s been over a decade. Probably about time.”

Billy hums and leans heavier into Steve’s body. He groans when Steve pulls his curls out from the elastic and starts carding fingers through his hair.

“You almost done here?” Steve murmurs. “Or do you need to go work out your frustration?”

“Do I knead something, you mean?” Billy says, tongue wagging in that stupid way he thought was cool in high school and brings back every now and again just to make Steve laugh. “No, El handled the second proofing already. We can head home, unless you really did want to taste something.”

“What’s new?” Steve asks. “That isn’t sweet, you know I don’t have much of a sweet tooth.”

Billy shakes his head at the admission, though they both know it’s true. “Spinach soufflé for the health crowd should start rolling out on Saturday and Max wants to try something with bacon jam this weekend but the consistency right now is awful.”

“Any focaccia left?”

“Yeah, I held one back. Had a feeling you’d stop by.” Billy returns and kisses him. It’s a quick press of their lips, before he’s opening the door and stepping back out into the hallway. Steve follows him, blinking as the noise of Bring Your Daughter… To the Slaughter fades into Killer Queen.

“Is this Max’s new song?”

“No,” Billy denies. “It’s El’s song, she just doesn’t know yet.” Steve laughs and heads over to mediate the conversation between Dustin and Mike and Will before Dustin’s gesticulating takes out an eye or overturns a chair. It’s a fairly normal night, all things considered. 

Billy turns out the lights all at once and everyone gets the message. Will waves a hand in farewell and chivvies Dustin out the door ahead of him. Mike and El are wrapped up in each other again, Mike carrying her bag over one shoulder and shrugging off her attempts to get it back while he explains his latest plot line in novel number five.

Steve takes his hand once Billy’s locked up and drops the keys in his pocket. They don’t live far, a twenty-minute walk if they go slow. They hold hands the entire way, Steve rambling on about his classroom and letting Billy tear off pieces of tomato and olive focaccia to feed him. It’s a nice night, not quite a full moon with a warm breeze and it takes them nearly a half hour. This is the usual ending to their nightly routine and Billy wouldn’t change it for the world.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The accompanying song list, created by myself and @thursdayknight:  
> Billy - Remember Tomorrow covered by Metallica  
> Steve - Nothing Else Matter by Metallica  
> Max - Dance Along the Edge by Concrete Blonde  
> El - Killer Queen by Queen  
> Mike - Fucking Hostile by Pantera  
> Dustin - Mr. Roboto by Styx  
> Lucas - Cemetery Gates by Pantera  
> Will - I’m Not Down by The Clash  
> Nancy - Number of the Beast by Iron Maiden  
> Jonathan - I Stole Your Love by KISS


	18. Differences (Max & the Party)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mike opens mouth, inserts foot while Max comes to the defense, Modern AU

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The class differences between the Harrington family vs the Wheelers vs the Hendersons vs Sinclairs vs the Byers and the Hargrove-Mayfields on screen is something I have wanted to explore for some time. It really deserves something thought out but here is a short ficlet to get started.

Mike sees the guy in the distance as they all stand by the fence of the schoolyard, huddled in winter jackets against the breeze between classes. He catalogues the sight of the dirty blond mullet and jean jacket, the unfamiliar wide legged stance of the stranger.

The term slips out and Mike doesn’t give it a second thought that it’s Ted’s words coming out of his mouth. There’s a website dedicated to people seen at Walmart, this guy probably fits right in. He expects a few laughs and is surprised when all the Party does is stare at him.

He’s taken aback by Max, who was brought to their Party by both Lucas and Dustin’s invite, slugging him hard enough for his muscle to ache. “Hey!”

“Hey!” Max echoes, anger across on her freckled face. “Don’t call anybody white trash, asshole. Especially not my step-brother or me. Not everybody is so lucky to be born to the middle class.”

“Oh. Sorry,” Mike offers but she’s already turned her back to head into the building.

Mike turns to Lucas and Dustin, doesn’t dare look at Will who everyone knows wears secondhand clothes. But Will is different, it’s not his fault his dad left his family in the lurch. Dustin’s eyes, normally so friendly, look a little colder. Lucas is shaking his head already.

“Dude, no.”

“What?” Mike asks and he’s confused. He feels safe enough to ask where exactly he fucked up, now that Max has stormed away.

“It’s a loaded term!” Lucas throws his arms out. “You’re middle class, Wheeler. It’s not a bad thing, it just is. You can’t help who you’re born to. I’m middle class too, but I get docked points for the color of my skin.”

Dustin jumps in at that point. “If you knew me before I came to Hawkins, I bet me and my mom would be trash too.”

“What? Never!”

“We lived in a double-wide,” Dustin says dryly. “Luckily, the dollar goes farther in small towns like Hawkins and my mom’s Etsy business really took off.” He shrugs, matter of fact. “I am definitely white trash. But it doesn’t look like that to you, since you know me.”

“Right.” Mike says confidently. “I know you and so you’re not that.”

Lucas buries his head in his hands.

* * *

Max climbs into the Camaro, scowl firmly in place.

“Who pissed in your Cheerios?” Billy asks with a sneer. “You’re on your own for dinner, I gotta get back to work as soon as I drop you off at the house.”

“No problem,” Max says and crosses her arms. “Mike is a dumb boy.”

“All boys are dumb, Max.”

“He’s lucky I didn’t punch him any harder.”

Billy rolls his eyes. “Am I gonna get a call from the school?”

“No, I just gave him a dead arm. No one saw it but us. Guess those lessons from the school counselor paid off.” Max seems doubtful but Billy privately agrees. It’s not been perfect, becoming her guardian after the ignominious murder-suicide his dad pulled.

“So what’d he say or do?” Billy coaxes the answer out of her in a gruff voice. If this is going to become a problem, he wants to know about it.

“Called you trash,” Max mumbles to her dirty sneakers. “Just ‘cause he’s got a mom and a dad and a perfect little sister. Probably got a dog and a white fence around it all.”

Billy sighs, loudly. “Max, we are white trash. Plenty of people are. It’s a shitty label, used by other people to build themselves up.”

“It sucks!” she cries out and he shrugs.

“Get used to it. Keep your head down, get good grades and show 'em what you’re worth. Or kick ass on the softball team, I don’t care. Do something, is the point.”

“I want to punch him again.”

“No.” Billy says quickly. “No more punching.”

Max huffs but agrees. “Nobody gets to insult you but me,” she says mulishly as he pulls into the drive of the apartment complex.

“Get out of my car, shitbird.”


	19. Delayed (Max & Steve)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> An A/B/O ficlet directly after Starcourt

Max clutches the admissions paperwork in her lap, knuckles white around the edge of the clipboard. Billy is still in surgery, and has been for over an hour already. She wonders how long it takes to sew someone back together.

“Want me to look over that?” Steve offers, and Max gives him the clipboard without a fight.

She watches with disinterest as he scans her handwriting and stops him from erasing the secret that she had been carrying for years.

“Max, you marked this wrong. Everyone knows Billy’s an Alpha. You can’t just say you don’t know.”

Robin, sitting on the other side of Steve in the waiting room, chimes in. “Of course he is, all the testosterone and posturing and-” she breaks off and cranes her head to look at Max with wide disbelieving eyes.

“Yeah,” Max confirms without actually saying anything concrete.

Steve looks dumbfounded. “But why? The first day in school I heard people talking about the size of his knot.”

“I did some research in the library in California; people usually present between the ages of 12 and 14, right?” Max sees Steve and Robin nod in her peripheral vision as she talks to the tile floor. “Except in uh, some people-”

Robin picks up where she drifts off, voice quiet. “Some people get a jumpstart, when something awful happens.” Steve’s fists clench and Max knows he’s thinking about Will Byers. “Other people, who are in situations where it might not be safe-” she cuts off sadly and Max glares at her.

“Don’t you dare pity him! It’s not his fault!” She fiercely defends her step-brother, red hair swinging as she shakes her head with a glare at the Beta girl. “But I have to mark _I don’t know_ on that stupid form because I actually don’t know. He's been on blockers since I've known him.”

Steve draws her into a side hug and she leans into it. Max is cold and dirty from the battle but it’s nice to have someone next to her while she waits for an update on Billy.


	20. prelude (Billy & Max)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Billy comes back to town when Max calls, modern AU

The phone wakes him out of a good dream, something involving the surf that Billy hasn’t seen in years. He reaches for the ringing device, swipes to answer the call without looking. 

“Billy?” Max is on the other end of the line. She sounds young, in a way he hasn’t heard in a long time. He thinks her 18th birthday was sometime this month, hadn’t sent a present despite living an hour away. 

“Aren’t you in school right now? Thought they didn’t let you use a cell phone,” Billy says, trying to wake up. His shift begins in six hours and he was definitely halfway through a REM cycle but Max never calls. 

“I had to talk to you, I’m in the corner of the gym.” Max tells him and he chuckles. That particular corner has seen a lot of things. 

“Yeah, what’s up that you need your big brother to fix? Thought I was to stay out of your problems and your life,” Billy reminds her bitterly.

“Your dad lost his job,” Max confesses, voice soft and speaking quickly. “Home is bad. Mom is walking on eggshells, wearing long sleeves again. I’ve been home maybe one night in the past two weeks. I know I shouldn’t ask, but can you come back?" 

Billy is silent as the words cycle through his brain. He makes a decision and hopes he won’t regret it. 

"I’ll do you one better, pick you up from school. Last bell at 3:30, right?" 

"Thank you,” Max breathes and hangs up. Billy rolls his eyes at her lack of manners but knows he’s no better. 

He’s waiting in the familiar parking lot when afternoon comes and the bell rings, radio on low. He watches the pack of jocks leave the school first and peel away. The nerds filter out in their groups of twos and threes. Max is with her Party, red hair shining bright in the sun. 

In his car alone, Billy can admit he missed her. Probably - definitely - the only thing in the entire town he missed. 

She makes her way to his car and his hands tighten on the steering wheel. Her left arm is in a cast, the color faded and dingy which means Max has been wearing it a while. Billy takes a shaky breath, smiles at her like his heart isn’t breaking.


	21. Happy Days (Billy & Max)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Billy kills Neil in self-defense/of Max

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Title from Brooke Candy's "Happy Days" _We got problems, we got pain, we got issues, it’s getting darker every day… Doctor aren’t we just a smile away from happy days_

Max is in her room, listening as always, to the sounds of the fight. She winces with each hit, too able to picture the way tanned skin blooms with bruises and blue eyes shimmer with tears unable to fall.

There’s a thud, the sound of something final. Max’s bedroom door flies open, cracking against the opposite wall with the force. She’s too worried about what she might find to care if the doorknob left a hole in the drywall or the consequences.

Max walks out cautiously to the family room, the scene of the latest upset. She doesn’t even know what it was about, had come home and gone directly to her room before either could see her.

(She knows Billy saw her, he always does. He had blinked at her as she scurried to her room. Max had looked back and then away, unable to help and it burned her from the inside out.)

Neil lies on the floor. Max notices the red on the walls, on Billy’s hands that he presses to his father’s temple. It takes a long minute for anything to register in her brain and she wonders if time stopped for only that minute.

Then time speeds up, her brain kicks back into gear. Max opens her mouth. She shuts it a heartbeat later, too out of breath to even scream as the magnitude of everything settles into her bones.

“What happened?” Her voice is hushed and Billy keeps pressing down, like if he presses hard enough the blood will stay inside.

Neil isn’t moving and Max is thankful his eyes aren’t looking at her.

“He said he was gonna teach you a lesson,” Billy’s voice is distant and Max thinks he’s in shock. “I couldn’t let that happen.”

Max reaches for the phone in the hall, stretches the cord all the way to sit next to Billy when he makes a wounded noise. His hand is sticky when it clamps around her arm.

“I’m not going anywhere, Billy.” Max reassures him. “I have to call someone though. You did what you had to do. You were protecting me.”

“I always protect you,” Billy repeats and shakes his head, curls falling in his face. He pushes them back and they stain red with his father’s blood.

“You do a good job,” Max soothes. “Now it’s my turn.” She dials three numbers that have passed her mind countless times before and wonders why her hands are shaking. There’s a smell of pennies in the air and Max thinks she’ll never get it out of her nostrils.

“It was self-defense, Billy. That’s what we’re gonna say. He’s been hitting you for a long time.”

“Always,” Billy corrects dully.

“I know. It doesn’t have to be that way any more. It’s over.”

“Over.” Billy sits back on his heels and then practically falls over, head on Max’s thigh as she starts to explain to the emergency operator. Max cards her fingers through his curls, hangs up and waits for someone else to break the silence.


	22. Visitation (Lucas/Max & Billy)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Billy comes for a visit, future fic

Lucas comes in and drops his briefcase at the door, toes off his fancy work shoes. Max is mumbling in the kitchen, probably on the phone to her mom. He walks onto the cool tile in socked feet and stops short.

There’s a man sitting there, with biceps the size that Lucas can never hope to achieve without steroids and short blond hair. Lucas wonders if he’s seen him before, thinks he likely would have remembered passing him on the street. Max is sitting next to the stranger at the table and they’re still talking, haven’t noticed Lucas in the doorway.

“Uh, Max.” Lucas starts, and stops when two sets of blue eyes turn to look at him. The man’s cool gaze is eerily familiar. Lucas sometimes still sees them in his nightmares. He’s never told Max that fact.

“Hey Sinclair,” Billy Hargrove greets him calmly, like Lucas’s childhood wasn’t ended when he was shoved against a wall at 14, or maybe it was going under the town of Hawkins to set fire to an alternate dimension. That whole night is a blur between the adrenaline, the fear and the years that have since passed. “You doing alright? Looking a little peaky, like you’ve seen a ghost.” He laughs at his own joke.

“The hell?” Lucas manages to snap back. Max sighs and stands up from the table, goes to Lucas and hugs him close.

“He’s not staying.” Max’s chin is set even as it rests on Lucas’s shoulder, like she’s preparing for an argument. “Not for long, just the night, Lu. He’s my brother.” Her voice isn’t quite pleading.

Lucas shakes his head in disbelief. “You haven’t talked about him in years and suddenly he’s just sitting in our kitchen like everything is fine?” He’s careful not to yell, knows Max shuts down at the sound of raised voices. He doesn’t know how Billy will react and doesn’t want to find out.

“I can go,” Billy says, voice subdued. He’s standing now, and Lucas is surprised to see they’re the same height. He’s got his hands in his pockets and Lucas notices the tattoos on his forearm. Dark tentacles wrapped around tanned muscle, a shipwreck and mermaid tail held fast in suckers. “Shouldn’t have come, it’s fine. I’ll get out of your hair.”

“Sit the fuck down, Billy.” Max snaps, moving away from Lucas’s embrace back to her seat. Billy rocks back on his heels, surprise written on his face. Lucas is intimately familiar with that tone and resigns himself to a conversation, a night with his wife’s deadbeat older brother.

Dinner is exactly as awkward as Lucas thinks, mostly silent chewing over pizza delivered by someone Lucas thinks might be the son of one of his colleagues.

Max does most of the talking, chattering about her colleagues at the bakery where she’s a cashier and how maybe she’ll be decorating cakes soon if the manager agrees to train her to use the chocolate piping bags. Lucas contributes little, but agrees to do the dishes since Max had called for the pizza. Neither of them cook much, but they agreed early on to eat off real plates instead of paper so they’re not total wastoids.

“We’ve got a spare bed, if you fit in a twin?” Lucas offers dubiously. He thinks the sheets are clean, is pretty sure he changed them after Erica crashed with them during her spring break. Max has disappeared to shower, leaving the two of them in the same room.

“Yeah, I can curl up anywhere. The couch is fine, if you don’t want to make the effort. I wouldn’t blame you.”

Lucas turns his head from the sink and raises an eyebrow, letting Billy know the last part of that had been overheard. His time-worn memories of the older man are that he was very loud, aggressive. They don’t fully match the tattooed man sitting quietly, fingers tapping mindlessly on the scarred wooden kitchen table Lucas’s mother had picked out from Goodwill. Lucas sees someone who’s had a hard life, thinks about second chances.

It costs nothing to be kind, Lucas reminds himself and continues washing dishes in silence.

Max comes back, drapes herself over Lucas and lets her wet hair drip onto his nice dress shirt. He gathers it in one hand and squeezes it out over the sink. Both of them laugh as her head is pulled too far and her body falls into his. Lucas can feel Billy’s eyes studying them but doesn’t glance over.

“You need a shower?” Max turns to her brother. Her face is carefully set in a mask Lucas remembers from their teenage years, when it was just her and her mom and Neil in the house. He still doesn’t know what happened to Billy in the intervening years, could make some guesses and none of them good.

“I’m fine, Max. Think I’m gonna crash soon. You let me know what time you’re heading out to work, I’ll make sure I’m up by that time.” His eyes are blue, earnest. Maybe something sad at the back of them. Lucas doesn’t look too closely and heads into their shared bedroom to finally change out of work clothes.

Max is waiting in bed for him as he steps out of the en suite.

“You okay?” She asks slowly, hand curling over the sheet drawn up to her waist.

“Yeah,” Lucas sighs. Her red hair is still damp when she lays her head on his chest but he only brings a hand up to finger-comb the strands. “Just a little unexpected.”

“Billy used to pride himself on that, I think.” Max says drowsily. “Never did realize all his acting out was for something bigger than him, something he couldn’t ever control. Seems like it might have finally clicked, this time around.”

Lucas presses a kiss to the side of Max’s head. “You’re out now, baby. Never have to see him again.” He encouraged her to stay in touch with her mother, afterwards. It’s going okay, they’ve finally moved on from scheduling calls to being able to pick up the phone when either of them want. Susan can talk for ten minutes now without getting overwhelmed by guilt.

Max hums, something that might possibly be "Ding Dong, The Witch Is Dead" and Lucas turns his head to muffle his laugh in his pillow. He falls asleep, still chuckling.


	23. shapeshifter AU (Billy & Max)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Max and Billy and their animal sides in the face of Neil’s parenting

Max meets Billy Hargrove for the first time with his arm in a sling.

“What happened to you?” she asks, unaware and innocent. Surely it can’t be that easy to take down a lion. That’s what Billy must be, with those golden curls and perpetual snarl.

“Nothing,” Billy brushes her off.

As far as their interactions go, it’s one of the more pleasant ones.

Billy and his dad move into their house, a small bungalow set back from the beach. It gets loud, very quickly.

Max hates it. Her hearing is more sensitive now that she’s had her first shift. She doesn’t have a choice when something hits the wall with a thud - her body melts and forms anew, warm fur and pointed ears.

Max hisses when her bedroom door opens, darts away to hide under her bed. There’s not a lot of room, it’s crammed full of boxes but cats are mostly liquid and she makes a space for herself.

“Hey,” her mom calls softly. “It’s okay now. They’re done fighting.”

Max’s lip curls up, one fang on display even though her mom can’t see her.

“Remember you can’t sleep under there,” her mom says and shuts the door behind her.

There are more fights and eventually, Max learns to control her shift. She’s got the best emotional control of anyone in her year, the counselor announces proudly at parent-teacher night.

Her mom looks at her hands, fingers interlocked with white knuckles. Neil smiles, false and proud.

They move to Hawkins, after.

Max and Billy coexist, not peacefully but not quite on eggshells. She’s never seen his form. Not everyone likes being on display, he’s told her. It never stops him from picking her up by the scruff, big hands gentle where they grip her.

She dangles from his arm, spitting mad until biology kicks in and Max goes limp. It happens every time. Billy cradles her in his strong arms, warm human skin and cold metal necklace against her ginger fur.

Sometimes, when the fighting is done and Neil has returned to his bed, Max will sit in Billy’s lap and purr. It’s just for comfort and not that weird, she tells herself.

He never pushes her away.

Max is, to say the least, surprised when she gets back from a study group and there is a bird of prey perched on her headboard.

“Uh, hey birdie,” Max says quietly. She thinks it’s a shifter, hopes it’s not a wild animal. The curved beak is sharp, the claws have already left scratches in the wood it rests on.

The bird shifts, restless. She ducks when it launches, drops to the floor so the animal doesn’t think she’s blocking the exit.

The bird sits on Max’s back, tiny pinpricks in her shoulder blade when it lands. It starts to preen her hair with the occasional peck when she moves away.

They’re both surprised when he shifts back in utter relaxation, Billy falling to the side of her prone body.

“This never happened,” Billy orders. Max hides a smile in the hand she raises to flip him off.

He shifts more often for her after that, when the house is quiet. When he shakes with silent sobs and her purring doesn’t do much to help. It’s easier for him to let her wrap her tail around his smaller body, to lay on top of his stress-plucked breast and keep him warm.

It’s just something else neither of them talk about.

Billy screams, one night. An awful human sound breaking off into a screech Max never wants to hear again. It cuts through the music in her headphones, the ones he handed to her not even a month ago when his necklace made a reappearance.

“It stops the shift,” Billy confirmed quietly in the privacy of the Camaro, hands tapping on the steering wheel. Neil had been staggering drunk that night and Max had only gotten two steps into the house before Billy was towing her away.

“I don’t know where he got it,” Billy shrugs like it doesn’t bother him to be caged. Max wonders if his skin itches beneath the spell, if only Neil’s hand can undo the clasp. She wonders if her mom wears one too, if Neil has another one ready and spelled for Max. She wouldn’t be surprised but knows Billy won’t let her be collared.

She runs into the room, swift and silent. Billy is winged, flapping and darting around his father’s cruel grasp.

“I’ll pluck you if you don’t stop making that racket,” Neil threatens, human and all the more dangerous for it. Max doesn’t think he’s shifted since he got home from the war, at least that’s what her mom told her.

Max doesn’t give it a second thought, tackling him to the floor and shifting as they fall. Her claws are sharp, drawing blood. Billy divebombs as Max skitters away from retaliation and then they’re both out his open bedroom window, disappearing into the dark.

They’ll need to return but not until morning.

“You shouldn’t have done that,” Billy says, human and crammed into the tunnel of the children’s playground at the park. It’s off the ground and provides a roof of sorts in case of rain. Max is still a cat, draped over his torso.

She digs her claws into his broad shoulder and begins to knead, displeasure and apology rolled into one. Billy pets her with a trembling hand but no bones are broken this time.

Max considers it a win and resolves to do better, jump in quicker the next time. They both know there will be a next time and a time after that, until Billy is officially eighteen and can fly away.

Max plans to follow.


	24. Tongue-Tied (Billy & Max)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “I think about you all the time.” she whispered.  
> He looked at her staring at him. “Guilt will do that to you.”

After he can walk without gasping for breath and stops reaching for a pack of Marlboro Reds that would set his recovery back, Billy leaves town.

He looks at his reflection in the rearview mirror of the Camaro, grateful the title is only in his name. He tells himself he isn’t a coward as the wheels take him past the Now Leaving Hawkins signpost. He doesn’t lose sleep over who gets left behind.

He opens a shop in a California town so small it’s barely on the map, works for a grizzled mechanic two towns away to actually pay the bills.

A woman with red hair walks in one day and time stands still. Her face is older but the bright blue eyes are still the same.

“Hargrove’s, huh?” Her voice is soft, something wistful in the tone. “Named for anyone you know?”

“Thought I’d make something better of the name,” Billy says, voice just as quiet. He steps out from behind the counter, leans against it and wonders if she’ll slap him, if she’ll hug him. The next words come easy to his tongue.

“How you been, Maxine?”

She stares at him for a long moment. He can feel her eyes take in his shorter hair, the open shirt he wears with scars on display and board shorts like the surfer he is once again. She rushes over to throw her arms around him after she’s had her fill. A hug it is, he probably should have guessed. Max has lost the wiry strength of youth and her body is that of a woman where they press against each other.

Billy hugs her back. He isn’t sure who’s more surprised.

“I’m good,” Max says with a little laugh, drawing back to put space between them. She dashes at her eyes and Billy pretends not to notice. “You?”

“Great, actually.”

“Yeah?” She sounds pleased about that. “So you own this place?” Her hand rises, sweeps around in a wide gesture to encompass the whole shop.

“It’s small, but it’s mine. Not really worth it, town’s too small for anything like a steady business but I like it. It’s all mine.” His grin is a little too sharp to be only the pride that comes with owning your own business, but he knows Max understands.

“I’m glad,” she sweeps a piece of red hair behind her ear and looks nervous. The expression sits wrong on her face - the Max in his faded memories is always bright and fierce, unbowed and innocent in her youth.

Everyone has to grow up someday.

“I was a kid when you left, I never realized-” she trails off and looks at the floor.

Billy sighs. “I really don’t want a trip down memory lane, not today and not ever.” He says firmly and Max shakes her head, hair flying like she’s a teenager again.

“I need a smoke,” she frowns and heads toward the front door. Her hand is already digging through the little purse hanging from her shoulder. Billy follows her onto the sidewalk to stand in the shade of the awning and waves away the offer when it’s tilted in his direction.

She lights it with a practiced hand and inhales. Billy is taken back to his own teenage years watching her exhale, smoke carried by the wind away from them. He doesn’t ask when she started, if she found an old pack of his or bought her own. His eyes catch on what can only be his pendant around her neck and his fingers itch to touch the metal. He hasn't seen it in years, didn't bother replacing it.

“I thought about you a lot,” Max confesses after a few moments of silence. The cigarette is half gone and her eyes don’t leave his. Billy blinks as the words register. “I’m glad you’re happier now.”

“Guilt will do that to you,” Billy shrugs, eyes drifting from her face to the chipped navy nail polish. “Now that you’ve seen I’m alive, satisfied your curiosity, you gonna fuck off?” It sounds harsh but they speak the same language. They’re both born of cruel words and swift fists, tied together by a man who doesn’t deserve the appellation of dad. It doesn’t negate the fact that just seeing Max, years later with a scar at her temple and shadows in her eyes, makes him certain that sleep will be hard to come by for the next few nights.

“I might,” she taps the ash off and inhales again. An exhale, gathering her thoughts. “I left at eighteen, just like you.”

“How’d your mom take that?” Guess they’re doing this, despite his earlier words and the most fervent desire to never spend another minute of his life on the asshole who gave him his last name.

“She didn’t try to stop me,” Max answers and there’s a world of meaning in her voice. Billy doesn’t need a map to read between the lines. “I haven’t spoken to her in a few years.”

“You want dinner?” Billy asks instead, swallowing back other words that a better son might ask. He’s never known how to be good. His ribs ache with phantom pain that gets stronger the more time they spend on this subject. “There’s an In-N-Out a few towns over, too.”

“I’ve been on the West Coast for like, a year now.” Max tells him, which isn’t a rejection of getting food with him.

“Right,” Billy shakes his head, runs a hand through the curls he still maintains though they’re sun-bleached and don’t fall as far as his shoulders anymore. “You still with that kid from before?”

Max drops the filter to the ground, steps on it with a practiced twist of her heel. Her laugh is a hollow sound that rings in his ears. “Lucas and I tried, all through high school and the first year of college. He was too nice.”

Billy grunts at the confession. He sees how that could be true, vaguely remembers the besotted expression on the kid’s face any time he looked at Max when she had her back turned. She was always too much for any of those Midwestern corn-fed kids, wild and running free whenever she saw the chance.

“So you came out here alone?”

“Followed a guy,” Max is on his heels when he heads back inside. She takes his place propping up the counter as Billy starts his routine to close the shop up. “It didn’t last. Mayfield women really know how to pick ‘em.” She laughs again, bitter this time. Her hands brush over her stomach once, twice and flutter away to rest at her sides. He recognizes the movement from her mother, from his own mother when he was too small to understand, wonders if it’s passed down to all women everywhere across the world who survive.

Billy watches and doesn’t say a word, counts the cash in the drawer quickly and writes the tally down on the piece of paper under the counter. There’s a bank down the street but the tally hardly changes from week to week, it’s not a large enough number to interrupt this reunion.

“So, dinner? I’ll even buy,” he coaxes with a smirk. Max nods, adjusts her purse strap. “Don’t know you anymore, if I ever did.” He doesn’t touch her shoulder to lead her out the door but he thinks about it. “I was a shit brother, Max. I never apologized for that, probably should have.”

“I didn’t make it easy,” Max accepts his words and offers up her own. “I’m sorry for my part, what I caused being young and dumb. I get it now.” She swallows, repeats her words from earlier. “I thought about you a lot.” She sways into him on accident as he locks up, smells like smoke and a hint of perfume when their bodies briefly collide.

Billy gives her a small smile and listens to her squeal of surprise at seeing his car again parked around the corner.

“I can’t believe you still have this! I can’t believe she runs!” Max’s delight is something he soaks in. She laughs, the sound of someone free and happy, when the engine turns over with a familiar roar. Billy wants to bottle that sound.

They speed down the highway, slamming to a stop at a diner farther away than Billy originally planned. Driving with a red haired spitfire in the passenger seat was too familiar, something burning in his veins when he looked over at her. It’s like no time has passed at all except for the lines carved on their faces, into their bodies.

Her order hasn’t changed, he’s gratified to see. Still the same girl-turned-woman dipping french fries into chocolate shakes; Billy wonders if she remembers he was the one to teach her that.

“What are you doing for work?” The words are clumsy in his mouth, a foreign tongue. It’s a common question to anyone new, even the tourists who duck into his shop, except this time Billy thinks he cares about the answer.

“Technical writer and freelance editor, as the occasion calls for.” Max traces patterns in the sugar grains someone spilled on the table before they took it. “The publishing house is somewhere in the Valley but they don’t care where I am. I used to travel a lot, after.” Her hands flutter again and Billy’s lips thin with unasked questions.

He throws out city names instead of prying for answers he doesn’t want and lets Max tell him about the sights, the people, the smell of an open-air market in a place he can’t find on a map. He can’t stand crowds now, if he ever could. He’s always been alone.

“I’m done wandering, though.” Max brings him out of his thoughts.

“Sticking around here?”

“If you want,” Max smiles again and looks up at him. He can see the little girl she used to be, the one who begged to be tossed into the breaking waves and the teenager who snarled back in the face of his anger. The woman before him is someone new, someone Billy thinks he could learn to love.

“I think I’d like that.”

He drives her back to where she’s staying, raises an eyebrow at the shabbiness. The place looks like it charges by the hour. “Really?”

Max holds her purse close, gives a wan smile. “It’s enough to get by until I find something on the market. Most of my job can be done in coffee shops or libraries.”

“I have a couch in better condition than this death trap,” Billy beckons her back into the car. “Pay for your room and get your shit together.” He parks next to one of the rentals in the lot, appraises it with a practiced eye. It’s been years since he’s been in a fist fight but his jaw clenches just the same as Max comes out of the motel with two duffle bags and a laptop case like it's all she has in the world. This scene is familiar too.

“This it?” He calls out, bridges the distance between them with long steps to take the larger bag.

“I travel light,” Max says with a quicksilver grin, something sad on the edges. Billy’s seen something similar in the mirror a time or three.

“Running from something?” he inquires without much feeling in the words, popping the trunk and tossing the duffle on top of the spare tire.

“Not any longer,” Max throws her bags in and slams it shut. Conversation over.

They ride in silence, windows down to listen to the ocean.

Billy drives to his one bedroom a few blocks from the beach’s public access point, light blue paint nearly holding up in the salt air.

“Cute,” Max proclaims as the Camaro pulls into the garage.

“It’s mine too,” Billy bares his teeth and cuts the engine. Max smirks back, reaches for the laptop bag at her feet.

“Water, or something harder?” he asks once she’s sitting on his couch, peering at everything but not standing up to look closer. The setting sun bathes them in golds and orange but also highlights the shadows.

“Glad to see you didn’t give up drinking too.” Max snarks. “Surprise me.”

He pours her a vodka with a twist, makes himself one too. She takes it and sips, pleasure crossing her features. He sits in the armchair that came with the couch as a set, waving off her words of thanks. It’s just a drink, even if she is crashing on his couch.

“I’m off tomorrow,” Billy tells her while he scans the coffee table for the tv remote. “We can do something if you want.”

They watch the news after Max murmurs agreement, letting other people’s voices fill the space between them.

“I promise I won’t wake you up at the crack of dawn." Max finally speaks during a commercial. She smiles a little guiltily, something youthful in her hardened features. Billy groans in remembrance.

“Do not even think about it, you hellion. I’ll do worse than a pillow to the face this time.”

Max drains her glass and sets it on the end table at the end of the news program. Billy picks it up as he makes his way to the kitchen, spending the next few minutes washing his dishes from the morning as well as their drink glasses. It looks unusual, seeing two glasses on the drying rack instead of one. It looks right, and Billy thinks maybe he’s ready to stop being alone.

* * *

The next year or so isn't idyllic, two near strangers learning to live in the same space, but it is miles better than it used to be. At the very least, they know how to have a discussion without screaming at one another or letting fear choke their tongues. It's a middle ground founded by age and experience, a sibling relationship that never could have been when they shared a house in Hawkins.

Max works from home and coffee shops as she desires. Sometimes she sits in Billy's shop for a change of pace, which sees five people on a good day. They learn to laugh again, at each other and the world. Around the same time that Max thinks life is pretty okay and maybe she should try harder to find a place of her own, there's a knock at the door.

Max keeps a portion of her attention on the officers, most of it dedicated to watching the way Billy sinks into the couch cushions like he can disappear if he tries hard enough. Neither of them are one for the blue uniforms, too many times they’ve shown up at the front door and done nothing. They’re still doing nothing, only sitting opposite Billy and speaking too quietly for her to eavesdrop.

“Would you excuse me? I think there's some bad news,” Max says to her boss on the other end of the phone. She waits a moment for the words to register, the pleasantries and ritual words of understanding to make their way across the line. She hangs up without saying goodbye and knows it will be excused just as her deadlines have been pushed back without having to ask.

The officers show themselves out, hats in hand.

Billy sits, unmoving before he finds the energy from somewhere deep within to become a hurricane. Max watches from her seat with the phone still in her hand, its dial tone a low buzz in her ear. She watches his destruction, sees the years slip away and his hair lengthen to that 80s mullet, and waits. She has weathered worse storms.

He stops in the middle of the room, one hand clenched in his shorn curls. Billy looks small, surrounded by the debris of the life he’s built littering the floor. Something crunches when Max stands and crosses the room. She doesn’t touch him.

“You’re not going alone,” Max says quietly. Not to face his demons. Not the one they share.

The funeral is small. A handful of work colleagues with greying hair, a few people in hospital scrubs and the three of them who knew him best and at his worst. Max and Billy stand behind the others in the back, Billy in a suit he bought just before they left California. Max sweats in a black dress because Hawkins is small and it would raise eyebrows if she wore something else. She doesn’t owe her mother anything but wears it just the same. There were good times, some nice memories, Max admits to herself as the coffin lowers. They’re all overlaid with the haze that comes with holding your breath too long, the bright sharp burst of pain from being backed against a bookshelf.

The priest drones on with more of the same lies that everyone is given in death, and Max clutches Billy’s hand in hers. She doesn’t know who holds tighter, or reached out first.

Susan, standing at the front, a widow now, weeps silently. Max wonders how long it took for her to master that, knows that she was too young herself when she had to learn.

The people she doesn’t recognize trickle away, moving slowly back to their lives. Soon enough it’s only the three of them left standing before the mound of dirt waiting to be pushed on top. The gravestone will be etched and put in a week from now. Max is glad she doesn’t have to read whatever epitaph was picked, something false that would no doubt burn her eyes.

“You came,” Susan’s voice is hushed, just like it always is in Max’s memories. Her eyes look between the two of them, the line on her brow easing as she drinks them both in. “You both came.”

She moves forward, kitten heels sinking into the grass. Max draws back, uncertain about this reunion. It’s too public, it’s too soon, she doesn’t know how to feel. Something flickers in her heart when Billy leans forward, his broad shoulder blocking her from view. He’s still protecting her, even now.

Susan gets the unspoken message and stops moving. She and Billy stare at each other, so much between them that Max can only guess at. Max steps out of his shadow, standing on her own two feet. She doesn’t let go of Billy’s hand.

“I need to do anything?” His voice is a now-familiar low rumble but Susan gives a start to hear it. Max wonders if it matches the voice in her memories, or if she even thought about him at all. They never said his name, after he left Hawkins. Max had to carry it alone for reasons she hardly understood and can’t name, even now.

Susan’s hands twist together, a nervous motion that Max can’t remember when her mother started. “There are some things,” she coughs and looks at them, then away. “You should go through them.”

“Alright,” and a shrug. A grin, saccharine and false, crosses his face. It’s just another reminder of all those years before. Billy’s always been a better actor than Max, who lets the emotions flush her skin. She never quite managed to affect the bored sneer Billy favors.

It’s strange to drive down familiar roads but do so behind the wheel of a rental car. If they’d driven out in the Camaro Max thought they might never escape. She had voiced that thought before they left and Billy had laughed, not disagreeing. They’d bought plane tickets instead. To do otherwise would be too much history repeating itself, quicksand sucking them both in after they fought so hard to be free.

The house on Cherry Lane hasn’t changed in the years they’ve both been away. It’s still dirty, tired and sagging like the rest. Max feels a familiar warning coil in her gut as she follows Billy up the stairs from the garage to the kitchen. She reminds herself there’s nothing to fear, Neil is gone and truly buried. The back door hinges don’t squeak any longer and it surprises her.

Billy pauses in the doorway of the master bedroom, steeling himself. Max and Susan watch from the kitchen. He shuts the door behind him, always one to be alone in his pain.

Max drifts from room to room, ending up in her old bedroom. The closet door is half-open and there are boxes as high as her waist. She doesn’t recognize the color on the walls, or the bedspread. It’s been years and Max doesn’t know why she still expected it to be unchanged, when she herself isn’t the same.

“I kept everything,” her mother says from the doorway. She doesn’t look at Max. “Just in case.”

Max grits her teeth, rolls her shoulders back. She reminds herself she didn’t come for a fight, she came for her brother.

“I’ll put some coffee on.” Her mother breaks the silence when it stretches too long, alway so eager to keep the peace. “Join me when you’re ready.” She turns and Max stares at her back as she walks away. Max sees an older woman, red hair dulled and shot through with silver. She’s frail.

Max sits on the edge of the bed that didn’t used to be hers. She takes a deep breath and then another, hands pressed to her face.

She doesn’t need anything from here. She doesn’t need to make herself fit like a puzzle piece. She can leave at any time.

Max still finds herself sitting at the kitchen table moments later, hands wrapped around a coffee mug that she doesn’t recognize. She wonders if there are any dishes left from her childhood, how much her mother has spent in replacing them.

“Do you remember-” her mother says for the hundredth time and Max traps a scream behind her teeth. It’s not about her, it’s not.

The words burst out anyway. Max has never been good at holding her tongue. “Do I remember?” She laughs, and it’s a wild sound, too loud in the dimly lit kitchen. “Does the good outweigh the bad, for you? Is that enough?”

“He wasn’t himself,” Susan protests quietly. “Not in the end.” Her knuckles are white around her mug. Max wonders where this spine was when she needed it, when Billy needed it.

Max doesn’t have a chance to rebut because the bedroom door opens. Billy stands there, leather jacket held over one arm. He holds it up with a smirk that’s too big to be real.

“The number of times he screamed at me for looking like Arnold Schwarzenegger and I find this in his closet? The goddamn hypocrite.” Max stares at the leather jacket as he throws it on the chair. She can’t find any words.

“He wasn’t himself, not in the end.” Susan commits to her story as if she doesn’t dare deviate. Max watches her blink back tears and wonders where her own are, if they’ll ever come.

“None of us were ourselves, Susie Q.” Billy says. He stops himself from getting in her face like he would have if he were eighteen again. It’s an effort and he trembles with the force of it. “Not under his roof.” A shadow crosses his face, something wistful Max thinks. “I hope you can find yourself now.”

They start to talk in low voices, not excluding Max but she can’t hear them over the roaring in her ears as she thinks about being a rat in a maze, wondering if she truly escaped if she just ended up back here. Maybe Hawkins only knows how to break people.

“I’ll be back,” she announces and doesn’t wait for a reaction as she grabs her purse from the kitchen counter. If they’d come in through the front door, she would have put it on the hallway table. She’s surprised it hasn’t broken like so many other things.

The first inhale, the rush of nicotine calms her down a little as she knew it would. Max stares at the neighbor’s yards, doesn’t know how many of them are still here. She knows why none of them intervened, and the words respect and responsibility sit sour in her stomach. The door opens behind her. She twirls the car keys in her hand, but doesn’t remember when she picked them up.

Max doesn’t wait to see who it is, no response held on the tip of her tongue when she’s drowning in humid air and everything is too bright. She walks down the cracked drive and slides into the rental car without a word. It smells new and plastic; Max can’t tell in the sunlight if the person in the doorway has blond or red hair. She supposes it doesn’t matter and pulls away from the house on Cherry Lane with her foot on the gas.

She drives around Hawkins, taking turns and shortcuts through the neighborhood that Max forgot she knew. There are still bicycles by the basement door of the Wheelers, some other child or children who haven’t known fear. The car takes her past the old Sinclair house, who moved away shortly after Erica had started high school in order to give her an academic challenge. Dustin’s house is unchanged, and it might be Mrs. Henderson behind the twitching curtains, but Max doesn’t stop to say hello. The Byers’ former house is even more overgrown, half collapsed and left to ruin. She pulls a textbook three point turn on the gravel and chokes on her memories. Max ends up in what passes for downtown Hawkins, squat brick buildings left over from yesteryear. Nothing and everything has changed.

She enters the store that will always be Melvald’s, uncaring that some other name is emblazoned on the sign above the door. It’s still set up the same, a new tile floor but the lights still buzz above her head. The girl at the counter is fresh-faced and innocent. Max looks at her and remembers Joyce Byers, feels every one of her own years. Her walk around the store is aimless though she purchases a can of Coca-Cola just for the fond laugh that bubbles out of her when she spies it in the refrigerated section. There’s no trace of New Coke to be seen.

Max drives back to Cherry Lane, feeling more settled in herself with the soda half-drunk in the cup holder. There’s nothing to trap her here.

“Ready to go?” Billy has a box under his arm and his eyes are red. Susan stands in the doorway and watches. She doesn’t wave goodbye. Max pretends not to notice, flicks on the radio.

“All the way to California,” Max smirks and Billy shuts the car door.


	25. Guardian (Steve & Max)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Max comes running in the middle of the night

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> whoops, just realized I forgot a tumblr fic! really, this is the last one for this collection.

There’s a frantic knocking at the door, too late to be anything good. Steve opens the door and steps aside as Max practically falls into the apartment.

“Hey,” Steve cries out, hands outstretched to catch her in case she actually trips. She’s only wearing socks despite the temperature outside. Their apartment is almost twenty minutes via skateboard from the house on Cherry Lane. “Max, what’s going on?”

She keeps her head down and shakes her head, flinching away from his hand and curling up in a corner of the couch. Steve gets a very bad feeling.

Billy appears in the doorway of his bedroom, taking in the scene with bright blue eyes. He disappears back into the darkened room for a minute and then comes back out, shirt on and extra clothes held in one hand.

Steve takes a seat at the tiny kitchen table and watches in silence as Billy crouches in front of his sister. He doesn’t touch her.

“Where’s Susan?” is the first question Billy asks, which Steve thinks is odd.

Max lifts her head to answer, and Steve sucks in a breath at the red welt on her cheek. “Work conference.” She shudders and hugs her knees to her chest. “Been gone two days.”

“Okay,” Billy looks awkward and licks his teeth before he asks, “Do you want Heather here?” Steve finds himself listening closer, hoping something will make sense in his head. “Or Robin, Steve could go get her if you wanted.” 

“No,” Max says and her voice is quiet. “You’re here, that’s enough.”

Steve watches as Billy takes those words in and he gives a short nod. “You want to shower, or you want the cops?”

“Shower,” Max says firmly and Billy holds out the clothes with a smile.

“What?” Steve says faintly as Max stands and goes to their tiny shared bathroom. His thoughts are swirling into a shape he doesn’t want to name out loud. She shuts the door and they both hear the click of the lock in the sudden silence. Billy takes a seat on the couch, one hand roughly tugging through his curly hair.

“What’s going on, Billy?” Steve stares at the side of Billy’s head like he has lasers for eyes, hopes the heat burns his tanned skin and he can finally get an answer.

“Max got hurt, she came here. Just like I told her to do.” Billy says in a flat voice. He reaches for the half-finished beer on the coffee table, drains it to the last drop before he sets it down again.

“And no cops?” Steve asks. “If this happened at a party, there might be other-”

“Wasn’t a party she was at, Steve.” Once the penny drops, the lightbulb turns on, all those expressions that means Steve finally understands what Billy is indirectly saying - he turns to the trash can off the kitchen and retches.

Billy gets up off the couch with a sigh, runs a clean glass under the tap and sets the water in front of him with a handful of paper towels. Steve wipes his mouth, at his eyes and doesn’t look at the bathroom door when it opens.

“I’m gonna try to sleep,” Max says quietly. Steve can hear the thumps of Billy’s footfalls on the cheap laminate flooring as he steps closer to her, staying an arm’s length away. Steve doesn’t mean to stare but it’s not something he can look away from.

“I’ll take the couch,” Billy offers softly.

“No,” Max hugs herself, looks smaller than Steve has ever seen her look before and he knew her at 14 when she was a skinny pre-teen who hadn’t grown into herself. “Could you-” she breaks off, looks down at her bare feet.

“Yeah,” Billy agrees. “Door open or closed?”

Max bites her lip, wariness on her face as she asks, “Open?”

“Whatever you want tonight, little red.” Billy follows her into his bedroom, Steve can hear the creak of his mattress under the weight of a body. Bodies, he amends silently, when the springs creak a second time.

They’re on Billy’s bed together, Max curled into a ball with the covers pulled over herself so far only her red hair sticks out. Billy is next to her, lying on his back with his head facing the door. He opens one eye to glare when Steve pokes his head in.

“Need anything?” he whispers. Billy shakes his head and Steve ducks back out, leaves them be. It doesn’t seem like this is the first time they’ve shared a bed in the aftermath and that thought sets his stomach churning anew.

Steve thinks about what he can do and decides there’s only one thing to do. He goes to his room and shuffles through his closet as quietly as possible, moving clothes and a few boxes to reach the smooth well-worn wood. It’s been years since they had to worry about monsters.

The bat, nails dark with age and maybe a cobweb or three, still looks dangerous.

He hefts it over his shoulder, pillow and blanket held in his other arm. Steve makes a bed on the couch and lays down, bat propped against the coffee table. No monsters, from man or gate, are getting in tonight. It’s not enough, Steve knows that, but it’s all he has to offer.


End file.
